The 
 Bradford A. Booth Collection 
 
 in 
 
 English and American 
 Literature
 
 The Works of Leonard Merrick 
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER
 
 The Works of 
 LEONARD MERRICK 
 
 CONRAD IN QUEST OP HIS YOUTH. With 
 an Introduction by SIR J. M. BARRIE. 
 
 WHEN LOVE FLIES OUT O' THE WINDOW. 
 With an Introduction by SIB WILLIAM ROBERT* 
 BON NICOLJU. 
 
 THE QUAINT COMPANIONS. With an Intro- 
 duction by H. G. WELLS. 
 
 THE POSITION OF PEGGY HARPER. With 
 an Introduction by SIR ARTHUR PINERO. 
 
 THE MAN WHO UNDERSTOOD WOMEN and 
 other Stories. With an Introduction by W. J. 
 LOCKS. 
 
 THE WORLDLINGS. With an Introduction by 
 NKIL MUNHO. 
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER. With an Introduction 
 by W. D. HOWELLS. 
 
 CYNTHIA. W T ith an Introduction by MAUBICB 
 HEWLETT. 
 
 ONE MAN'S VIEW. With an Introduction by 
 GRANVILLE BARKER. 
 
 THE MAN WHO WAS GOOD. With an Intro- 
 duction by J. K. PROTHERO. 
 
 A CHAIR ON THE BOULEVARD. With an 
 Introduction by A. NEIL LYONS. 
 
 THE HOUSE OF LYNCH. With an Introduc- 
 tion by G. K. CHESTERTON. 
 
 WHILE PARIS LAUGHED: BEING PRANKS AND 
 PASSIONS OF THE POET TRICOTRIN. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY
 
 THE 
 
 ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 
 
 By LEONARD MERRICK 
 
 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 
 WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS 
 
 NEW YORK 
 E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1919, 
 BY E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 The First American Definitive Edition, with Introduction 
 
 by W. D. Howells, limited to 1550 copies 
 
 (of which only 1500 were for sale). 
 
 Published May 12th, 1919. 
 Second American Edition, May, 1919 
 Third " " July, 1919 
 
 Fourth M " October, 1919 
 
 Fifth " " " 1919 
 
 Sixth " " August, 1920 
 
 Eeissued, June, 1932 
 
 Printed In the United States of America
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 ANGLO-SAXON fiction, either in its English or 
 in its American condition, is not so rich in form 
 that one who feels its penury can pass any excep- 
 tion by, and not dread coming to actual want. 
 A keen< perhaps a quivering, sense of this, was 
 what made me, in my first acquaintance with the 
 novels of Mr. Leonard Merrick, resolve to share 
 with the public my pleasure in their singular 
 shapeliness. No doubt, a great many of our 
 short stories have form; but here it is a question 
 of novels, and not of short stories. In short 
 stories, it is rather difficult not to have form; in 
 novels, it is so difficult that I can think of no 
 recent fictionist of his race or nation who can 
 quite match with Mr. Merrick in that excellence. 
 This will seem great praise, possibly too great, 
 to the few who have a sense of such excellence; 
 but it will probably be without real meaning to 
 most, though our public might very well enjoy 
 form if it could once be made to imagine it. In 
 order to this end, we should have first to define 
 what form was, but form is one of those elusive 
 things which you can feel much better than you 
 can say ; to define it would be like defining charm 
 
 v
 
 vi INTRODUCTION 
 
 in a woman, or poetry in a verse. Possibly, in 
 order to enforce my point, I should have to bid 
 the reader take almost any novel of Mr. Mer- 
 rick's and read it ; for then he would know what 
 form was. Possibly, this is the conclusion to 
 which I must come now, but I do not deny that 
 this would be what is called "begging the ques- 
 tion." 
 
 As to the world which this excellent form 
 embodies, it may be said, first, that every writer 
 of fiction creates the world where his characters 
 live. Of course, if he is an artist, it is vital to 
 him to believe he is representing the world where 
 he lives himself; and in a certain measure he is 
 doing so, but he is always giving their habitat 
 stricter limits than his own. One of the con- 
 ditions of every art is that its created world 
 must be a microcosm; even if it is not avowedly 
 a fragment, the portrait it paints of life is a 
 miniature where everything but the essentials are 
 left out. If its effects are wisely meditated, it 
 will sometimes show that the essentials are the 
 little things and not the large things. The scene 
 does not matter; the quality or station of the 
 actors in it does not count; nothing matters or 
 counts but the effect of reality. It is a very 
 narrow world Mr. Merrick deals with, and of 
 events so few that it is wonderful how con-
 
 INTRODUCTION vii 
 
 tinually he provokes the reader's curiosity and 
 holds his interest, though for the young and kind, 
 or for the old and wise, it is a world which will 
 always have a glamour, will be misted in an 
 illusion such as wraps the persons whom its 
 people are engaged in representing, either in the 
 novel or in the drama. In other terms, and I 
 hope simpler terms, his story is commonly the 
 story of obscure talent struggling to the light in 
 those very uncertain avenues to distinction and 
 prosperity; and he contrives to vary it only by 
 the different phases of their failure or success, 
 which is always the same sort of failure and 
 success. I do not know why the events should 
 be of more appreciable human concern than com- 
 parable events in the lives of rising or falling 
 painters, sculptors and architects, who should 
 equally appeal in their like quality of artists. 
 But it is certain that we somehow feel an enchant- 
 ment in the career of the artists who create 
 characters in fiction, or represent them in the 
 theatre, which we do not feel in the careers of 
 those other artists. It may be that this is because 
 we live longer with their creations or represen- 
 tations, and therefore are better acquaintance or 
 closer friends with the creators. You cannot 
 linger two or three days on the details of a 
 picture or a statue or a building, as you can on
 
 viii INTRODUCTION' 
 
 those of a novel, or even three hours, as you can 
 on those of a play ; and you cannot know them so 
 well that you long to know the author or actor, 
 and attribute to him all sorts of personal interest, 
 which perhaps experience would not realize in 
 him. In any case, it is certain that, since fiction 
 ceased to concern itself solely with kings and 
 princes, or even with the nobility and gentry, it 
 has found nothing of such sovereign effect with 
 the reader as the aspirations and adventures of 
 people, the younger the people the better, trying 
 to get past the publisher or the manager into the 
 light of the public square. These at present 
 share the sort of "pull" which the pirate and the 
 robber, the seducer and the seduced, the pick- 
 pocket and the pauper, the bankrupt, the rightful 
 heir, the good and the bad trades-unionist, the 
 muscular Christian, the burglar and the detec- 
 tive, all once enjoyed in turn, and now enjoy no 
 longer, at least with the polite reader; and it 
 ought to be fortunate for Mr. Merrick that his 
 novels are mainly concerned with them in the 
 hour of their surpassing attractiveness. I have, 
 of course, no belief that he chose them because 
 of their pull; it is much more probable that, in 
 the strange way these things come about, he was 
 chosen by them because of his personal intimacy 
 with their experiences. It is scarcely pertinent
 
 INTRODUCTION k 
 
 to conjecture that the material of his fiction, out 
 of which he has shaped its persons and events, 
 is employed at first hand. A much more impor- 
 tant fact is that he is always and instinctively 
 artist enough to employ it for the stuff it is, and 
 that he has not attempted, so far as I can make 
 out, to pass off any clay image of his fabrication 
 for a statue of pure gold, or even of gilded 
 bronze. No squalor of that world of his is 
 blinked, and we learn to trust him, not perhaps 
 quite implicitly, for a faithful report of the world 
 he knows so well, but implicitly enough, because 
 he seems to have no question as to his function 
 in regard to it. He is quite as honest as a Latin 
 or a Slav would be in his place, and never as 
 dishonest as some other Anglo-Saxon might be. 
 
 He is not so much in the bonds of superstition 
 concerning passion as most novelists, and there- 
 fore he is not of the inferior novelists; he ranks 
 himself with the great ones in that. He has the 
 courage to own that certain veritable passions 
 die long before those who have known them are 
 dead. Apparently, he has seen this happen in 
 the world among real men and women, and he 
 portrays the fact as he has seen it happen. His 
 fidelity cannot recommend him to the "world that 
 loves a lover" so much that it will not allow that 
 he can ever cease to be a lover; but it ought to
 
 x INTRODUCTION 
 
 make him friends with the few who love truth 
 better even than lovers. At any rate, it is the 
 event in several of his books, in perhaps the best 
 of them, though sometimes he sacrifices to the 
 false god also, and has lovers go on loving with a 
 constancy which ought to have made him a wider 
 public than I am afraid he has. 
 
 Of the two arch-enemies of love, prosperity 
 and adversity, he makes the oftener study of 
 adversity. There is a great deal of grim adversity 
 in his books, which sometimes remains adversity 
 to the end, but also sometimes puts off its frown. 
 It is the more depressing when it becomes or 
 remains the atmosphere of that ambition which 
 seeks fruition in the successes of the theatre. If 
 we are to believe him, and somehow Mr. Merrick 
 mostly makes you believe him, the poor creatures, 
 usually poor women creatures, who are trying 
 to get upon the stage, are almost without number, 
 and certainly outnumber the struggling jour- 
 nalists and authors a hundred to one. The 
 spectacles of their humility and humiliation, of 
 their meek endeavours and cruel defeats, are of 
 such frequent recurrence in his novels and tales 
 that, after a little knowledge of them, one ap- 
 proaches the scene with an expectation of heart- 
 ache through which nothing short of the mastery 
 dealing with them would support one. In the
 
 INTRODUCTION xi 
 
 monotony of the event, it is very remarkable 
 how he distinguishes and characterizes the dif- 
 ferent children of adversity, especially the daugh- 
 ters. They are commonly alike in their adversity, 
 but they are individual in their way of experienc- 
 ing it. In fact, in an age of intensely feminized 
 fiction, he is one of the first of those who know 
 how to catch the likenesses, to the last fleeting 
 expression, of women; and especially women of 
 the theatre. Probably, these are not essentially 
 different from other women, but they have an 
 evolution through their environment which no 
 one else seems to have studied so well. Some- 
 times they are good women and sometimes they 
 are bad, but they are so from a temperament 
 differently affected by their errant and public 
 life, their starved or surfeited vanity, their craze 
 for change and variety, and they keep a sim- 
 plicity, a singleness, in their selfishness and 
 depravity, such as differences them from women 
 bred amidst the artificialities of the world on the 
 other side of the footlights. It would be easy 
 to name a score of them from his pages, but it is 
 sufficient to name Blanche Ellerton in The 
 Actor-Manager as a supreme type; Nature 
 meant her for the theatre only. 
 
 There is no perceptible mechanism in the story 
 of The Actor-Manager, in every way the best of
 
 xii INTRODUCTION 
 
 Mr. Merrick's stories so far as I know them. At 
 all moments of it you feel that it happened, and 
 that the people in it are alive, with a life of human 
 probabilities beyond it. I can recall no English 
 novel in which the study of temperament and 
 character is carried farther or deeper, allowing 1 
 for what the people are, and I do not remember 
 a false or mistaken line or colour in it. For any- 
 thing to equal it, we must go to the Slavs, in such 
 triumphs of their naturalness as Tourguenieff s 
 Smoke, or the society passages of Tolstoy's War 
 and Peace. The French stories are conventional 
 in their naturalism beside it; perhaps a Spaniard 
 like Galdos has done work of equal fineness. It 
 is not alone in Royce Oliphant, with the stress 
 of his hereditary conscience, or in Blanche Eller- 
 ton, depraved both by her artistry and by her 
 ambition, that the author convinces; Otho Fair- 
 bairn, who becomes the "scoundrel" that Blanche 
 not less deliberately than hysterically makes him 
 for his money, and Alma King, who is as good 
 an artist as Blanche and yet a good woman, and 
 Blanche's mother whose sentimental novelettes 
 support her contemptuous husband in the pro- 
 duction of his real but unmerchantable master- 
 pieces, and Blanche's plain sister with her famine 
 for a little love, a little admiration from men, 
 are all in their several ways entirely lifelike. The
 
 INTRODUCTION xiii 
 
 theatre itself, which began as a theatre of art, and 
 ended as a theatre of profit, has almost a human 
 appeal in its tragedy, as if it were a sentient 
 organism, with a heart to be broken and a soul 
 to be lost. Nobody who is not inevitably bad 
 is very bad; in the book the world is the world 
 we live in. 
 
 Why, then, is not this masterly novelist a 
 master universally recognized and accepted? 
 That is something I have asked myself more than 
 once, especially in reading the criticisms of his 
 several books, not one of which has lacked the 
 praise of some critic qualified to carry conviction 
 of its merit. Perhaps the secret is that the stories 
 are almost always very unhappy. There is no 
 consolation in their tragedy; they do not even 
 "raise a noble terror," such as was once the sup- 
 posed business of tragedy. Upon the whole, they 
 leave you feeling mean, feeling retroactively 
 capable of the shabby things which have been 
 done in them. Another secret may be that, when 
 the poverty which haunts them is relieved in this 
 case or that, you are left with a sense of the 
 vast poverty still remaining in the world; if a 
 struggler is given a chance to get his breath, 
 the great struggle of life goes on. Still another 
 secret may be that there is no fine world, no 
 great world, in the books; we scarcely recall a
 
 xiv INTRODUCTION 
 
 person of title in any of them, and people who 
 like to associate with the rich or great, when they 
 are "taken out of themselves," have not the com- 
 pany of so much as one high-born villain, one 
 corrupt grande dame. Socially it is not "good 
 company" we find ourselves in, and morally it 
 is not even the "best company" as Jane Austen 
 calls it; and yet it is somehow consoling, some- 
 how encouraging to have known such a good 
 and clever man as Royce Oliphant, such a good 
 yet gifted woman as Alma King, even such a 
 kind wrong-doing soul as Otho Fairbairn, or 
 such a gentle, modest, unselfish creature as the 
 mother of Blanche Ellerton, earning her hus- 
 band's bread by writing the popular novelettes 
 which enable him to write his unpopular novels 
 and despise her trash on a full stomach. Very 
 likely Mr. Merrick may have had his moments 
 of consciously contriving the story in The Actor- 
 Manager and of actuating his characters in con- 
 formity with a preconceived plan, but he does 
 not suffer his readers to share these humiliating 
 moments. For all they know, the things hap- 
 pened from the nature of the characters in the 
 given circumstances with no apparent agency 
 of his. 
 
 W. D. Ho WELLS.
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THERE used to be, in the neighbourhood of the 
 Museum, an eating-house, of which the feature 
 was a three-course dinner for sixpence. On a 
 board in the doorway was inscribed "First-class 
 Room Upstairs," and this was well worth visit- 
 ing. Its true attraction, however, did not lie in 
 its steaming soup, its colonial meat, nor its im- 
 pregnable pastry, but in the study of its patrons. 
 Eschewing the ground-floor, where, to the casual 
 observer, the dirt of the diners obscured their 
 interest, one found oneself among pale-faced 
 girls in sage-green frocks of eccentric pattern, 
 among young men with bilious bows and abun- 
 dant hair. These were "art-students" to use 
 the comprehensive term by which the students 
 of painting describe themselves the fact was 
 evident at a glance, before scrutiny discovered 
 the mark of the Roman Gallery in charcoal on 
 their fingers. A greasy coat, white at the left 
 elbow, and frayed under the right cuff, confirmed 
 
 1
 
 2 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 the impression that its wearer was a hack from 
 the Reading Room. Sometimes a reporter and 
 his note-book might be recognised ; more frequent 
 was the sight of a violin-case, or a roll of songs. 
 Occasionally a denizen of the foreign quarter 
 behind Tottenham Court Road stumbled upon 
 the establishment to sigh for the forbidden 
 cigarette, and renew his allegiance to the restau- 
 rants of Charlotte Street; now and again a stray 
 shop-girl out of employment, or an excursionist 
 up for the day, gaped at the costumes of the com- 
 pany approving the cuisine and disdaining the 
 clientele. A little woman with spectacles and 
 close-cropped hair suggested mathematics; and 
 a Pole, whose unkempt locks swept the grime on 
 his velvet collar, left one in doubt whether to 
 attribute to him operas or infernal machines. 
 
 On a certain winter afternoon, the room, 
 usually so full, was deserted save by two persons. 
 One was a man of about thirty; the other was a 
 girl, five or six years younger. Though they 
 had often noticed each other there, they were 
 not acquaintances, and to-day each was at once 
 interested and a shade embarrassed by the other's 
 presence. When the waitress reappeared with 
 pudding, the silence between them had not been 
 broken, but the man, stealing another glance, 
 saw that the girl was crying.
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 3 
 
 They were seated close together; the room 
 contained three long tables, but two of them were 
 bare, and the cloth extended but half-way down 
 the third. The preparations for custom had been 
 slight to-day at the eating-house, and of all its 
 struggling frequenters, of all its hopeful and its 
 hopeless band, only these two apparently had 
 had nowhere else to go. The attendant, who had 
 returned to her chair behind the counter, con- 
 templated them with an air of compassionate 
 protest. The date was December the twenty- 
 fifth. 
 
 He looked quickly away, out at the dreary 
 street. He understood the tears that stood in 
 his companion's eyes if he had been a woman, 
 his mood would have required the same relief. 
 That, though, was not his thought; the thought 
 of which he was suddenly conscious was that 
 he wished the girl and he knew each other. He 
 was alone, and loneliness had never ached more 
 strongly in him. In fancy he had been reliving 
 his life, lingering at the milestones, and scenting 
 afresh the fragrance of mornings passed away. 
 He remembered Christmas at the Vicarage had 
 seen himself a child again in his father's church. 
 The old man's face and white hair above the 
 pulpit, and the laurel and crimson berries round 
 the font, flashed close seemed close enough for
 
 4s THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 him to clasp them. He remembered his scholar- 
 ship, his joy, the moment when his father's lips 
 had trembled at the news; reviewed his boyhood 
 at Harrow, and his confidence at Oxford. It 
 was to be the Church then for him, too. He 
 recalled the first touch of indecision; the time 
 when the cry of art within him became insistent ; 
 the night when he announced the change in his 
 intentions. Under the snow in the cemetery his 
 father lay now, beyond the reach of disappoint- 
 ments. Thank God the bond between them had 
 never weakened ! The long battle which was still 
 unwon had been mentally refought since his 
 meagre breakfast; and the sense of solitariness, 
 the longing for sympathy was acute as he stared 
 through the window at the empty street. 
 
 He spoke a second later : 
 
 "We're spared the outrage of a Christmas 
 pudding made fashionable in a mould here. If 
 a Christmas plum-pudding's not as round as a 
 cannon-ball, it isn't a Christmas plum-pudding." 
 
 "No," she said. She sought for a continuation. 
 "And it ought to be very big," she added. 
 
 "With a sprig of holly and blue flames." 
 
 Momentarily he saw the Vicarage again. If 
 Christmas were good for nothing else, it would 
 serve to remind us we were once innocent and 
 happy, and didn't know it; for everyone associ-
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 5 
 
 ates Christmas more vividly with his own child- 
 hood than with Christ's. The girl did not reply 
 further ; she looked down at her plate. The man 
 looked wistfully at the girl; and the attendant, 
 with a smothered yawn, looked at the clock. 
 
 "I think I've seen you here before," said 
 Oliphant. "I wonder they're open to-day. I 
 was half afraid I shouldn't get any dinner." 
 
 "It was the same with me I'm only in lodg- 
 ings, and She shivered, and pinned her 
 jacket more closely across her chest. 
 
 "Are you cold?" 
 
 "The fire isn't very Christmassy, is it? Do 
 you know what I'm going to do when I get up? 
 I'm going to walk round the Squares and look 
 into all the dining-rooms where hateful rich 
 people are having port and walnuts, and toasting 
 themselves before the most expensive coal. I 
 shall loathe them violently." 
 
 "And then?" said Oliphant, smiling. 
 
 "I shall go home." 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 "I shall howl." 
 
 Though he had not failed to notice her previ- 
 ously, he was surprised that he had not noticed 
 her more. He regarded her with rising interest, 
 even with gratitude. Her face, though lacking 
 in colour, had a beauty which was accentuated
 
 6 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 by the style in which the dark hair was worn 
 parted in the centre, and waving loosely over her 
 brow and ears. Her eyes at first sight had looked 
 black, but he saw now that they were grey. 
 
 "My programme '11 be as lively as yours," he 
 said. 
 
 "You've nowhere to go either?" 
 
 "Oh, I've a large selection of thoroughfares; 
 and / can go home too. There's no place like 
 home, and it's often very fortunate." 
 
 "What do you do?" she asked. 
 
 "I'm an actor." 
 
 "Are you? I shouldn't have guessed it. I'm 
 an actress." 
 
 "I wondered if you were; I was sure you acted 
 or sang. Are you playing anywhere?" 
 
 "I was in the Independent Theatre last month 
 did you go? I haven't done anything since 
 then; it's such a bad time of the year. I was 
 very fortunate to be in the Independent; I was 
 playing at Ealing, and the Margetsons saw me 
 and offered me the engagement. I understudied 
 Mrs. Margetson. If I could have played 
 Hilda!" 
 
 "Oh, Ibsen attracts you?" 
 
 "Well, I should like to play Hilda Wangel in 
 The Master Builder. I should like to play Hilda; 
 and I long to play Juliet, and oh, I who am
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 7 
 
 nobody, how I should love to create Lucy Feverel 
 on the stage 1" 
 
 "You read Meredith?" 
 
 "Because I'm an obscure actress can't I read? 
 Oh, I know, I'm not surprised you stared! But 
 I might have stared at you for knowing it was 
 Meredith. Lucy! She's the nineteenth-century 
 Juliet, isn't she? Are you one of the enemies of 
 the Independent, or one of the people who care 
 nothing about it?" 
 
 "Neither," he said. "The greatest work will 
 never appeal to the greatest number. How 
 should it?" 
 
 "That's discouraging!" She rested her elbows 
 on the cloth her fingers interlaced, and sup- 
 porting her chin her eyes lifted to him atten- 
 tively. 
 
 "I maan the greatest creative work. Does an 
 actor or an actress create? You used the word, 
 but I'm afraid we don't. The best of us interpret 
 like Paderewski, Sarasate; Wagner creates. 
 Shakespeare created Hamlet; the actor who 
 plays the part tries to interpret his intention. 
 Need he be any the less an artist because the 
 nature of his art demands collaboration?" 
 
 "His collaborators aren't all Shakespeares," 
 she said; "nor Ibsens." 
 
 "Oh, there may be more brains in the actor
 
 8 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 than in the part 1 What banalities are considered 
 seriously because he gives them life!" 
 
 "But good work is knocking at the stage 
 doors!" she cried; "why isn't it admitted? Why 
 does the actor put the banalities on? When he 
 is his own manager, why not produce things that 
 are worthy of him?" 
 
 "Because the best only appeals to the minority, 
 as I say. If you want a proof of it, remember 
 that England claims the greatest dramatic poet 
 the world has known, and then look down the 
 list of the travelling companies see how many 
 are playing his work! You know! it's appall- 
 ing. Managers wouldn't pay fees for trash, 
 instead of taking poetry for nothing, if the 
 poetry drew as well; you can be quite sure of 
 that; for their ambition is to make money." 
 
 "Is it yours?" she asked impatiently. "If you 
 were an actor -manager, what would you pro- 
 duce?" 
 
 The attendant folded her novelette, rose, and 
 came round to the table. 
 
 "It's shuttin' up time, please," she said; "we're 
 only open to four o'clock to-day." She tore out 
 two vouchers, and picked up the coins. 
 
 "I wish I had spoken to you over the soup," 
 said Oliphant, watching the girl put on her 
 gloves.
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 9 
 
 She smiled. "I was praying you wouldn't 
 speak at all I felt so miserable. But I am glad 
 you did. Good-bye." 
 
 "Good-bye," he said; and she preceded him 
 down the stairs. "I won't wish you 'a merry 
 Christmas,' " he added, as they reached the foot, 
 "but I hope it won't be too wretched. Are you 
 going to take that walk and 'loathe them 
 violently'?" 
 
 "I think so it'll be something to do." 
 
 She seemed undecided whether to extend her 
 hand ; then made as if to offer it. 
 
 "You wouldn't let me come with you?" he said 
 hesitatingly; "I " 
 
 "I think not," she said; "thanks." 
 
 They stood on the desolate pavement, looking 
 away from each other. The daylight was slowly 
 fading, and on the pallor a yellow gas-lamp leapt 
 into the perspective. 
 
 "You don't mind my having asked you? I I 
 meant no harm." 
 
 "No, I understand," she said; "but 
 
 "It would lessen the awfulness for half an 
 hour," pleaded Oliphant. "I've no one to talk 
 to, I've nothing to read, and it'd be a charity. 
 Can't you imagine we've been introduced? Do 
 let me! ... Will you?"
 
 10 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 She wavered for an instant. "For half an hour 
 then," she responded. "Come!" 
 
 "Thank you very much. Which way do we 
 go?" 
 
 "Oh, the loneliness of London!" exclaimed the 
 girl as they crossed the road; "the loneliness of 
 it!" She glanced at him and sighed. "This is 
 very improbable," she remarked. 
 
 "Probabilities aren't pleasing," said Oliphant. 
 "The greatest probability is that 'the part is 
 already cast' !" 
 
 "It's a hard profession if one has no influence. 
 Have you been in town?" 
 
 "I've just got my first engagement here. We 
 open in about a fortnight. The Queen's. I speak 
 twelve lines. On tour I've been playing good 
 parts. 
 
 "How dreadful! What you must feel !" 
 
 "I do. But I couldn't endure the provinces 
 for ever. I want to get on ; I ought to get on 
 I've worked so hard, and hoped so long; it's 
 time I did something. If I'm playing in Lon- 
 don, a chance may be easier to find in the com- 
 panies on tour one is buried. Don't you think 
 so?" 
 
 "I've played several small parts in London," 
 she said, "but they have led to no better chance 
 for me. Oh, I'm discouraged! I haven't strug-
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 11 
 
 gled so long as you, I daresay; but a girl's 
 weaker, and I'm discouraged." 
 
 "Are you quite alone?" 
 
 She nodded. "I lost my mother last year; 
 she was all I had. When she died, it Her 
 
 voice quivered, and they strolled on in silence. 
 "I think it made it crueller," she continued softly, 
 "to know that she thought I'd get on better with- 
 out her, because because it was my joy to help 
 her as much as I could while she lived." 
 
 "I envy you!" said Oliphant; "all I did was 
 to cause my father pain." 
 
 "Didn't he want you to be an actor; is that 
 what you mean? Did you quarrel?" 
 
 "He didn't quarrel with me, but he was dis- 
 appointed. And he was the best father a man 
 ever had." 
 
 "I like you for saying that," she answered. 
 "What did he want you to be?" 
 
 "What he was himself a clergyman." 
 
 "Really?" she said with surprise; "and you felt 
 you couldn't?" 
 
 "I wanted to, once. It was as I grew older 
 that my views changed. I don't mean religious 
 views or anything like that I simply felt that 
 my temperament forbade it and that the stage 
 was the only career possible for me. You asked 
 me in there what I'd do if I were an actor-
 
 12 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 manager. I went into the profession because I 
 loved it ; because it seemed to me the stage might 
 teach as high a lesson as the pulpit that it might 
 be the loudest, greatest voice in all the world. 
 More powerful than the Church, because the 
 Church is precept and the stage is action; more 
 intimate than the sister-arts, because it speaks in 
 a simpler tongue. And it should be art ; but art 
 art is revelation! Shall I tell you what my 
 dream is?" 
 
 "Yes," said the girl earnestly, "do; tell me 
 your dream!" 
 
 Instinctively they had paused. They were by 
 the pillar-box at the gates of the British Museum. 
 In the immense quietude theirs were the only 
 human figures ; the London that gorged, and the 
 London that starved, were both out of view. 
 
 "I see," he said, "a small theatre, and at this 
 theatre the one literary medium for the drama 
 isn't held to be the baldest prose ; poetry is neither 
 divorced from this stage, nor limited to Shake- 
 speare it's thought possible to test the work 
 of a poet who has not had centuries of advertis- 
 ing! But the realist is as welcome as the poet; 
 I should think he was welcome! Only the plays 
 are literature, and they are real plays. The men 
 and women live! They aren't puppets pulled 
 by inexorable strings through four acts to a
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 13 
 
 conventional end. Reward for virtue and pun- 
 ishment for vice are shown to exist in the soul 
 and not in material success and failure. To 
 depict the world as a school, where virtue wins 
 the prize, and vice gets a flogging, is immoral. 
 The parts around me aren't written down to 
 bring my part into greater prominence. The 
 dramatist who comes to me is free free to be 
 true to his convictions and his art ; free to choose 
 his characters where he will, and to trace their 
 legitimate development; free to make the 'lost' 
 woman noble, and the 'godly' woman vile for 
 such things are! and the love within him for 
 all humanity would point the moral when it 
 needed pointing. The real playwright is your 
 real optimist your real Christ-follower for he 
 shows that sin doesn't mean damnation, and that 
 there is redemption for the pure in heart. The 
 one command laid upon him is to see things 
 nobly that his deeper vision shall help the 
 crowd. Where shall I find such writers? There 
 are dramatists not known, and well-known 
 writers who could write much better. By degrees 
 I gather round me a band of of the dmes bien 
 nees, the how shall I say it ? the 
 
 "The elect!" she put in rapidly; "y es I under- 
 stand French. It would be a good name for the 
 house The Elect!"
 
 14 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 "I produce men who don't work for the stage 
 now, or whose manuscripts are considered hope- 
 less because they don't appeal to the largest 
 public. With a small theatre I could afford to 
 depend upon the educated minority. There is a 
 Press waiting for such an endeavour, and, though 
 at first the notices are bigger than the returns, 
 they gradually win for me the recognition of 
 all the public that I'm addressing. Believe me 
 that public is large enough to keep my house 
 open all the year round. Miss er my com- 
 panion in misfortune, my theatre becomes a 
 force in intellectual London; I'm famous, happy, 
 I have fulfilled my ambition, I'm the manager 
 of the the Theatre Royal Day-dream. . . . I've 
 been keeping you standing still in the cold; for- 
 give me!" 
 
 She caught her breath. "You're an artist," 
 she said, "I believe you'll succeed. This is one 
 of the moments when I think that to be an artist 
 and fail, is something." 
 
 "We are both artists," he said; "The Two 
 Bohemians!" 
 
 "I haven't told you my name. It's Alma 
 King." 
 
 "I'm so glad we met, Miss King. Mine's 
 Royce Oliphant. You see the benefit of giving 
 a thing a trial we couldn't know each other
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 15 
 
 better if the formal introduction had taken place. 
 Now could we?" 
 
 "Lookl" she murmured, halting again in two 
 or three minutes. 
 
 He glanced at the window that she indicated. 
 "Ah, the opportunity for the violent loath- 
 ing!" 
 
 "No, only for the imagination after all. How 
 torpid they look after their dinner! But it's 
 cosy in the firelight, isn't it? I wonder what 
 they do one can't see their features? Trade, of 
 course. Trade in saddlebag armchairs digests 
 the turkey, and art in the streets builds castles 
 in the air. Observe the adipose children!" 
 
 "Their figures aren't distinguishable." 
 
 "I feel they're adipose I told you this was 
 an exercise of the imagination. Oh, the servant 
 has come to pull the blinds down! The enter- 
 tainment is over. I don't think we'll look in 
 anywhere else other people's comfort is very 
 saddening." 
 
 They waited there, by the area railings, in 
 Bedford Square, nevertheless, till the last of the 
 blinds was lowered. Illuminated, the interior 
 had a fascination the group on the hearth, and 
 the gleam of decanters under the crimson shade 
 above the damask; the glinting picture-frames, 
 and the splendour of a Christmas-tree. Mean-
 
 16 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 while on "The Two Bohemians" a little snow 
 began to fall. 
 
 "You must go home," said Oliphant regret- 
 fully. "Do you live far away?" 
 
 "No, close," she said; "in Alfred Place. And 
 fou?" 
 
 "In Burton Crescent." 
 
 "Oh, how wet you'll get! You'd better leave 
 toe here; it's coming down more heavily." 
 
 "Nonsense! I'll see you to your door. We 
 go through Store Street, don't we?" 
 
 They hastened their steps, but both were sorry 
 that the end had come ; to each of them the pros- 
 pect of the evening looked unutterably dismal. 
 
 "I suppose I may see you at dinner again?" 
 asked Oliphant, as they turned by the little post- 
 office at the corner. "Have you any regular 
 time?" 
 
 "About two, as a rule." 
 
 "Shall you be there to-morrow?" 
 
 "I don't know," she said, stopping; "perhaps. 
 This is the house." 
 
 "Good-bye, then," said Oliphant, "and thank 
 you again. I won't keep you standing in a snow- 
 storm to listen to pretty speeches, but I'm grate- 
 ful to you. I should like to think we're going to 
 be friends." 
 
 She drew out a latch-key, and faced him for a
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 17 
 
 moment with steadfast eyes. Then quite simply 
 she said: 
 
 "I want you to come in, Mr. Oliphant, please ; 
 and we'll have some tea." 
 
 She opened the door; and, delighted, he 
 followed her along the dark passage, into a room 
 to which she led the way. The fire was low, and 
 it was not until she had lighted the lamp that 
 Oliphant perceived that she was compelled to 
 make shift with one room only. The asperities 
 of bed and washhand-stand, however, were molli- 
 fied by a shabby screen. He chose a seat where 
 they would be behind him, and noted the resem- 
 blance between the broken vases on her mantel- 
 piece and those on his own. A framed photo- 
 graph was among the vases, and the girl took it 
 up and showed it to him. 
 
 "This was a likeness of my mother, Mr. 
 Oliphant," she said. 
 
 The dignity of the action thrilled him with 
 pleasure and respect; he felt that she could not 
 have done anything more beautiful. 
 
 She removed her jacket and gloves, and, kneel- 
 ing on the hearth, coaxed the fire into a blaze. 
 
 "Are you very wet?" she sa?d. "As soon as 
 the kettle boils, things '11 be more cheerful. I 
 wait on myself very much here I find it better " 
 
 "Have you been here long?"
 
 18 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 "No; only since the Independent perform- 
 ances nearly two months. It isn't very com- 
 fortable, but ... I shall move when I get an- 
 other engagement. In the meanwhile I have to 
 put up with it." She pulled the pin from her 
 hat, and passed her slim hands over her hair. 
 
 "You are looking at my 'library' ! It's modest, 
 isn't it?" 
 
 "I can only see the titles of two-thirds of the 
 library," he said; "The Works of Shakespeare, 
 and Archer's Masks or Faces you know your 
 Masks or Faces, do you! What is the little 
 one?" 
 
 "The little one is ninepennyworth of Brown- 
 ing. I'm studying Any Wife to Any Husband 
 because I shall never in my life be given an 
 opportunity to recite it." 
 
 "Recite it now," said Oliphant. 
 
 "No, thank you. But what a recitation it 
 would make ! I don't know why no woman ever 
 does it. Ah, it's lovely isn't it divine! Do you 
 read much? But of course you do. I wonder 
 if you've ever tried to write?" 
 
 "What makes you ask that?" 
 
 "Have you?" ~ 
 
 "Once." 
 
 "A play?" she exclaimed. 
 
 "Oh, yes; a play, of course."
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 19 
 
 "It hasn't been produced, I suppose? Oh, 
 how rude that sounds!" 
 
 "The assumption's correct. It has been ac- 
 cepted three times, but has not been produced. 
 It's in an agent's hands now; and I suppose it 
 will stay there unless he loses it. It's a drama." 
 
 "Good?" she inquired, settling the kettle 
 afresh. 
 
 "7 thought it was very good. So did every- 1 
 body else who read it only nobody puts it on. 
 Your kettle won't sing! Isn't that what you 
 call it 'singing'? Shall I draw up the fire for 
 you with that newspaper?" 
 
 "The water was cold," she said; "it'll be all 
 right in a minute. I'll ring for a second cup and 
 saucer. Tell me about your drama." 
 
 "The idea the foundation-stone at least is 
 a shade melodramatic, perhaps; but the theme 
 doesn't make a play melodrama if there's no 
 bombast in the treatment?" 
 
 "I don't know," she said; "but even if it does, 
 mightn't a melodrama without bombast be as 
 much art as anything else? 'The great future 
 for the stage lies in perfect freedom: freedom 
 to try every kind of experiment to be realistic 
 or idealistic, prosaic or fantastic, "well made" 
 or plotless; freedom to go anywhere, like the 
 British Army, and do anything.' Have I a quick
 
 20 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 study? I've only read the book once. What 
 is the foundation-stone?" 
 
 "It was suggested by the Tichborne Case. 
 Life, of course! But so many phases of life 
 become melodrama when they're transferred to 
 the stage." 
 
 The bell drew from the basement a seven-year- 
 old child with wooden eyes, and fat unhealthy 
 cheeks. Jam and mince-pie clung to his chin, 
 and he snored. 
 
 "Will you ask your mother to let me have 
 another cup and saucer, Norman?" said the 
 lodger deprecatingly. "Say I've a friend here. 
 . . . We shall have it directly," she continued, 
 as the child shuffled out, "and then you must tell 
 me the plot." 
 
 They sat opposite each other on the narrow 
 hearth. Momentarily the dramatist was as 
 strong as the actor in Oliphant, and the play for 
 which he had hoped so much three years ago 
 moved him to confidence again. The girl, her 
 hands clasped loosely round her knee, leant for- 
 ward, stirred by visions in which a mighty theatre 
 hung upon her voice and the conquest of London 
 was achieved. Both turned at a peremptory 
 knock, and started as the door was thrown open. 
 
 The demeanour of the woman who stood on 
 the threshold was as excited as her method of
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 21 
 
 announcing herself. Her face was white, and 
 when she began to speak she trembled. 
 
 "This is pretty goings-on," she said; "this 
 won't do 'ere ! I don't 'ave it, and that's all about 
 it." She turned to Oliphant. "I'll trouble you 
 to leave the 'ouse. Now then!" 
 
 "Mrs. Imms!" stammered the girl, as white 
 as she. 
 
 "My good woman," exclaimed Oliphant hor- 
 ribly distressed, "what do you mean? I assure 
 you There isn't the slightest reason for 
 you to be annoyed. I've the honour to be a friend 
 of Miss King's and she was kind enough to ask 
 me in for half an hour. I shouldn't have thought 
 there was anything extraordinary about it on 
 Christmas Day?" 
 
 The householder did not seem to understand, 
 or to hear him. 
 
 "You'd best be off," she repeated, "and so I 
 tell yer! This is a respectable 'ouse not meant 
 for the likes of 'er! Yes, you I'm talkin' about 
 yer thing; you as don't pay your rent! I might 
 'ave told what it'd be when I found you was an 
 actress I'd never 'ave taken you if I'd known!" 
 
 "You ignorant wretch!" gasped the girl, 
 steadying herself by the mantelpiece. "Go," she 
 added to Oliphant; "please, go!" 
 
 "The woman's been drinking," he said in a
 
 22 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 low voice; "do you want me to leave you to her?" 
 
 "Yes, please! Please!" she murmured agi- 
 tatedly. 
 
 "Aha!" cried Mrs. Imms; "and you go with 
 'im, that's more! I won't keep you no longer. 
 Out you go! I'll 'ave your box for what it's 
 worth, and you don't sleep in my 'ouse, not an- 
 other night!" 
 
 Oliphant looked sharply round; but the mute 
 appeal forbade his lingering. The uproar con- 
 tinued as he traversed the passage still in dark- 
 ness and fumbled with the handles at the end. 
 
 The street opened upon him quiet and bleak. 
 The snow had ceased, but the wind blew bitterly. 
 He hated himself for having gone in, though he 
 could not perceive where he had been at fault. 
 The woman's threat to turn the girl out of doors 
 was in his ears, and weighed on his consciousness. 
 Impossible that he could leave unless satisfied 
 that it wasn't to be fulfilled! He made a 
 cigarette, lit it, and sauntered to and fro, debat- 
 ing how long a vigil was demanded to dispel all 
 doubt. 
 
 His capital was reduced to eighteen shillings 
 and a few pence ; his prospects were represented 
 by the engagement at the Queen's Theatre, of 
 which he had spoken; an engagement which 
 would provide him with the sum of two pounds
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 23 
 
 ti week less than half the salary that he had been 
 receiving in the provinces. If it had been other- 
 wise He sighed. He reflected that it would 
 have been a luxury to pay the amount of Mrs. 
 Imms's claim and send Miss King to an hotel 
 where she could dine in reality before she slept, 
 and have a respite from her cares. Yes, that 
 would have been delightful. Did rich men have 
 these pleasures? Or did the opportunities fall 
 only to men like himself, who couldn't seize them? 
 
 His cigarette was finished; he paused by a 
 lamp-post, and tried, with numbed fingers, to 
 roll another. Now she would regret that she had 
 met him the oasis in the desert of their London 
 had proved a misfortune to her ! Who could have 
 foreseen that it would have so serious a develop- 
 ment? All the same, she would always recall 
 it with abhorrence that was only human nature. 
 . . . But perhaps in the morning the landlady 
 would apologise. He threw a glance at the house 
 again, and ran forward as a figure appeared on 
 the doorstep. 
 
 "You?" faltered the girl, shrinking. 
 
 "I couldn't go till I knew," he said. "Are you 
 going away?" 
 
 "Yes, don't don't trouble, thanks. It was 
 good of you to wait, but there's nothing you can 
 do " Her tone was hard; but it could not con-
 
 24 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 ceal that there were tears in her throat. She 
 looked away from him. 
 
 "Haven't you your luggage?" 
 
 "She wouldn't let me take it. You see, I 
 
 You understand, I owe her money she has kept 
 my things. I have these." 
 
 "She hasn't the right," cried Oliphant, wincing 
 at the handbag; "I'll make her give them up !" 
 
 "No, no! don't go back I'd rather you didn't; 
 I shall manage somehow. . . . Don't let me keep 
 you any longer," she repeated; "there's nothing 
 you can do." 
 
 "I've done enough!" said the man poignantly. 
 "I know!" 
 
 "You mustn't think that. You've nothing to 
 reproach yourself for if any one is to blame, it's 
 I." The restraint that she was putting on herself 
 gave way: "You're the only living soul I've had 
 to speak to for two months !" she exclaimed, with 
 a hoarse sob. "Don't think badly of me if I 
 made a mistake." 
 
 He wished he were a woman that, for answer, 
 he might take her in his arms; he could but ex- 
 press his sympathy and comprehension by halting 
 words. His poverty had never seemed so great a 
 shackle as while they stood there, helpless on the 
 pavement the only sound, a bell that rang for 
 evening service at some neighbouring church.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 "WiiAT do you mean to do?" inquired Oli- 
 phant after a brief pause. "You can't go to one 
 of these houses on Christmas night, without any 
 luggage, and expect to get a room." 
 
 "No, I've thought of that I don't know yet 
 where I shall go. There's a place where I stayed 
 when my mother was living the woman would 
 remember me. If it didn't mean a bus fare every 
 day, I'd try there." 
 
 "Where is it?" 
 
 "It's at Shepherd's Bush. Are the trains run- 
 ning this evening, do you know?" 
 
 "I daresay you'll let me take you, if you go? 
 I can't lose sight of you till I know you're settled. 
 But how can you look for an engagement, if 
 you're hard up, from Shepherd's Bush you 
 can't walk to the Strand? Besides, the house 
 may be full; or perhaps the woman is dead. If 
 she's alive, I suppose she'll want to be paid, like 
 everybody else, won't she?" he added. 
 
 "I must get enough for the first week some- 
 25
 
 26 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 how," she declared, sauntering on; "and then 
 she must trust me, or I must give the room up." 
 
 "Look here," said Oliphant desperately, "we 
 haven't known each other two hours, of course; 
 and I can see you're as proud as Lucifer. But 
 I'm going to be as frank as if you were my sister : 
 I've eighteen shillings and fourpence-half- 
 penny, I think it is in the world. I wouldn't 
 tell many people that, so I've a right to ask for 
 your friendship in return. Let me lend you half 
 a sovereign till you get an engagement." 
 
 "Oh no," she said under her breath. "No> 
 thank you !" 
 
 "You won't? How can you be so unkind so 
 so absurd? What's to prevent it? Isn't it any 
 good? Or don't you respect me sufficiently?" 
 
 "Oh," she said, "that- 
 
 "Don't you like me enough? You know we've 
 been more confidential than many acquaintances 
 of years' standing: you're refusing because it's 
 strange that we should have grown so confiden- 
 tial in two hours. That's unworthy of a woman 
 with a mind like yours! ... I wish you would 
 do what I ask, and let me get your luggage for 
 you to-morrow. Do you propose to let that beast 
 keep it till you can pay her?" 
 
 "I must think what to do about my trunk," 
 she said.
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 27 
 
 "And the it's a big word for a silly sum the 
 'loan'?" 
 
 "Thank you, 'no'! Really and truly 'no'! I 
 appreciate what you've said very much; but be 
 tactful and don't say any more." 
 
 "Very well," he returned. "Now where are 
 you going?" 
 
 "I'm afraid Shepherd's Bush is too far," she 
 sighed; "and, as you say, the woman mayn't be 
 there now." 
 
 "Where did you stay before you went to 
 Alfred Place?" ' 
 
 "I was on tour. . . . Last year I had apart- 
 ments in Keppel Street; but those 'd be too dear." 
 Her pace slackened to a standstill, and she turned 
 impatiently: "Please don't trouble any more! 
 There's not the least necessity for you to go 
 through all this as well." 
 
 "For the first time I'm compelled to differ 
 from you," said the young man; "I think there's 
 every necessity." 
 
 "Well, I'd rather you went," she insisted; 
 "you'll oblige me by saying good-night." 
 
 "I'm very sorry, indeed; but as things stand, 
 I don't see my way to leaving you." 
 
 His decisive tone stung her helplessness to 
 anger. 
 
 "Do you mean to say you won't go when I
 
 28 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 wish it?" she exclaimed haughtily. "I forbid 
 you to come with me, I prefer to be by myself.'* 
 She stood looking in his face, her air as imperious 
 as her words. Oliphant had not realised till now 
 that she was so tall. "I forbid you!" she re- 
 peated. "I want to be alone." 
 
 "There's one way you can get rid of me," he 
 said. "Here's a policeman coming; you can 
 charge me with annoying you. I'll be hanged 
 if I'll leave you to wander about London alone, 
 unless you do!" 
 
 The policeman approached ponderously, his 
 gaze attentive. The girl resumed her course, and 
 Oliphant turned beside her. When she spoke 
 again, her voice had no resentment, and it quiv- 
 ered: 
 
 "I want to beg your pardon. I was ungrate- 
 ful. I'm ashamed of myself." 
 
 "Oh, please, Miss King!" he stammered. "I 
 understand so well." 
 
 "It was only because I'm so miserable." 
 
 "I know. . . . Will you let me suggest a way 
 out of the difficulty?" 
 
 "Oh, please do!" she cried. 
 
 "Take a room in the house where I'm staying 
 
 for a day or two at all events. The landlady's 
 
 a good sort, and it's very cheap, or Z shouldn't 
 
 be there! It will avoid all bother about your
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 29 
 
 having no luggage, and about a deposit, and the 
 rest of it ; and you can be 'at home' in a quarter 
 of an hour." She was silent for a long while. "I 
 told you just now I was going to be as frank as 
 if you were my sister," he continued. "If you 
 were, and another man gave you such honest 
 advice, I should want to find him afterwards and 
 thank him!" 
 
 "Which is our way to Burton Crescent?" she 
 said cheerfully; "I forget." Oliphant glanced 
 at her with admiration. 
 
 By the clock at St. Pancras it was five minutes 
 to six as they drew near the house; they were 
 now walking briskly. Oliphant unlocked the 
 door, and letting Alma in, went to the top of the 
 kitchen-stairs. 
 
 "Mrs. Tubbs!" he called. "Mrs. Tubbs, can 
 I speak to you for a moment?" 
 
 A buxom little woman with rosy cheeks and 
 untidy grey hair bustled up to him. 
 
 "You've got back then?" she exclaimed. "I 
 thought p'raps you was spending the evening 
 with your friends after all." 
 
 "No," he said; "I've brought one to you, in- 
 stead. There's a lady in the hall Miss King 
 who wants a room." 
 
 "That there isn't!" said Mrs. Tubbs; "you're 
 joking."
 
 30 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 "I'm not ; she meant to sleep in Alfred Place ; 
 
 in fact, her luggage is there, but Well, I 
 
 know the house isn't very nice, Mrs. Tubbs, be- 
 tween ourselves, and I persuaded her to come 
 here. Mind! it's got to be cheap and 'inclusive' 
 no more than you charge me." 
 
 "I'm sure, Miss, I 'ope we shall make you 
 comfortable," murmured the landlady, panting 
 along the passage. "We're in a bit of a muddle, 
 you know, along of Christmas Day and the girl 
 out, but I can soon get the room to rights for 
 you. Would you like to see it, Miss ?" 
 
 "Please," said Alma. 
 
 "Bless me, I'm forgetting the candle! I 
 couldn't very well show it you in the dark, could 
 I ? Here, Amelia, Johnny, one of you ! bring me 
 a candle, quick! In the prerfession, Miss, the 
 same as Mr. Elephant, may I ask? Have you 
 come up to London for long?" 
 
 "Yes, I'm an actress," said the girl; "I don't 
 quite know how long I shall be staying. I'm 
 sorry to put you to any trouble to-day." 
 
 "Oh, don't talk about 'trouble,' Miss; where 
 there ain't no trouble there ain't no let! I'm 
 sure it was fortunate as Mr. Elephant thought 
 to bring you. It'll be awkward your not 'aving 
 your things with you, won't it? But there! I 
 dessay you'll make shift for the night."
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 31 
 
 Oliphant remained in the passage till the 
 arrangement was concluded and Alma and the 
 householder reappeared. 
 
 "You've settled?" he inquired. "Is it all 
 right?" 
 
 "It's quite all right," answered Miss King 
 brightly: "I'm glad I came!" 
 
 "And if there's anything you'd fancy, Miss," 
 said Mrs. Tubbs, beaming, "I'll soon 'ave it up. 
 A cup o' tea and a bit o' goose now?" 
 
 "I think we should like tea at last," said 
 Oliphant, "if you can manage it." 
 
 "If I can manage it!" she echoed. "Go on 
 with you! There never was such a gentleman, 
 Miss, for fearin' to put anybody out. Your fire's 
 in, Mr. Elephant, though I was just beginning to 
 think I wouldn't make it up again, as more than 
 likely your friends was keeping you." 
 
 "I wish they would, Mrs. Tubbs," he said. 
 "Well, I expect Miss King will be glad to sit 
 down!" 
 
 "What 'friends'?" asked Alma, as they 
 mounted to the first floor. "I thought you said 
 you'd nowhere to go?" 
 
 "I hadn't; but I didn't like to own it to her. 
 She thought I'd gone to dine with some relations. 
 What have you seen?" 
 
 "I've seen my room. It will do very well."
 
 32 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 "Well, I'll show you some more," he said. 
 "Enter!" 
 
 He displayed a drawing-room. It was not 
 luxurious, but it boasted a high mirror over the 
 mantel-shelf, and a sideboard supporting an- 
 other. The furniture was upholstered in bright 
 blue rep, and the fire leapt cheerfully. 
 
 "Is this yours?" she exclaimed, astonished. 
 
 "Oh no! 'Mine' is a bedroom the size of a cup- 
 board. But I pay eight shillings a week, and it 
 affords me the 'use' of this, and tea and toast 
 twice a day. The goose this evening will be an 
 'extra.' " 
 
 "Do you mean " 
 
 "I mean that you, like me, are entitled to come 
 in here as often as you please our terms include 
 the 'use of sitting-room.' At present we are the 
 only lodgers and Mrs. Tubbs and the children 
 have a parlour in the basement. You may sit 
 here from pearly morn to dewy eve. Or you 
 may shun it absolutely if you choose. If you 
 have a preference for solitude, you can appro- 
 priate the dining-room. Only you won't find a 
 fire in there: I buy these coals myself a hun- 
 dred-weight at a time, for a shilling. If you 
 eventually decide upon the drawing-room, I 
 think it would be honourable if you owed me 
 sixpence."
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 33 
 
 She laughed. "It's extraordinary!'* 
 
 "It is. But it happens to be a fact; I have 
 practically the whole house. However, I'm will- 
 ing to resign half of it to you if you want me 
 to. Into the dining-room I will never stray." 
 
 "This evening," said Miss King, "I will share 
 the responsibility of the 'hundred-weight.' I'll 
 go and take off my hat." 
 
 Oliphant stretched himself in an armchair, and 
 mechanically rolled a cigarette, and threw it 
 away. 
 
 "Let me," he said, when she returned, "show 
 you the extent of your possessions! These win- 
 dows open on to a balcony, where Mrs. Tubbs 
 assures me it is pleasant to sit in summer. Not 
 having been here in summer, I cannot vouch for 
 it personally. Beyond, lie beautiful pleasure- 
 grounds enclosed by railings the use of the 
 necessary key is also yours. To our left we have 
 Marchmont Street on Saturday night a busy 
 thoroughfare; stalls illumined by naptha may 
 be found here; and the costermongers cry: 
 'Fine 'errings! Where yer like, laidies three 
 a penny!' To our right are various railway- 
 stations, much resorted to by such of the popula- 
 tion as are desirous of going somewhere else. 
 Behind us, if I'm not mistaken, is Mrs. Tubbs 
 with cold goose!"
 
 34 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 They turned to the table, and Mrs. Tubbs said : 
 
 "Well, it 'ave cheered Mr. Elephant up to 
 meet an old friend, Miss, I must say. I haven't 
 'card 'im talk so much since 'e's been here. Might 
 I ask if you'll be taking a part at any of the 
 theatres, Miss ? I ain't in the prerf ession myself, 
 but I'm that interested in it, having 'ad a niece 
 as took to the stage which her name was Billing, 
 and she called herself 'Clarence,' and pretty she 
 was! going against her father's wishes, having 
 quarrelled with him, and not my pore 'usband's 
 or mine though us it was that she always blamed 
 for spoilin' her prospecks well, I sometimes 
 seem to be as good as an actress in a manner of 
 speaking, though I'm not." 
 
 "I'm not in an engagement now," said Alma; 
 "I hope I shall be before long." 
 
 "No, Miss. I 'ope you'll find the tea strong 
 enough. She was before your time, Miss, and 
 ah, well, she's gone now, pore dear, like Tubbs 
 himself though there was a coldness between 
 'em to the day of her death. And pretty she was. 
 And might have been at the Al'ambra still but 
 for her father's artfulness!" 
 
 "Her father didn't approve," said Oliphant; 
 "and Mr. Tubbs urged her to try dressmaking 
 instead." 
 
 "Mr. Tubbs was the tool of Mr. Billing,"
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 35 
 
 explained the widow strenuously. "Mr. Tubbs 
 he approved. Me and him was both very proud 
 to see the girl famous-an'-that. It was 'er father 
 as made the to-do and put 'im up to interfere 
 though as fond of 'er as if she'd been 'is own 
 and speaking that 'arsh she never forgot it. Mr. 
 Tubbs was the tool of Mr. Billing." 
 
 "I've no doubt she realised it, Mrs. Tubbs," 
 said Alma; "she probably felt it in her own 
 mind." 
 
 "I 'ope she did, pore dear, that I do! But 
 lor, it'd never do to think too much about these 
 things, would it? Is there anything else you 
 fancy, Miss, or Mr. Elephant, sir? If you want 
 any more hot water you'll just touch the bell." 
 
 "That's quite all, Mrs. Tubbs, thank you," he 
 said; "we shan't want anything else. Come!" 
 he went on, as she withdrew; "was my recom- 
 mendation so bad? There's character for you! 
 It's 'Mrs. Willoughby' over again; still she's a 
 study. . . . What are you considering?" 
 
 "That I thought it startling to be crossing the 
 road with you this afternoon. And behold me 
 now!" 
 
 "A piece more toast?" he said, passing the 
 plate. "You evidently don't read much fiction, 
 or you'd know that the distracted heroine finding 
 peace in the stranger's rooms is the most ordinary
 
 36 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 thing in the world. It's true this ought to be 
 a handsome flat, or, at least, chambers in the 
 Temple, but the situation is stale absolutely." 
 
 "Talking of situations," she replied, "y u must 
 tell me the story of your play. And the curtain's 
 going up, and you haven't given me the title !" 
 
 "The title is The Impostor,' 1 said Oliphant 
 slowly. "The curtain rises on the hall of a 
 country house the house of the Countess of 
 Plynlimmon. At the back there's a staircase 
 leading to an oak gallery. She and two other 
 women are on the stage all seated. Logs are 
 burning in the grate twilight's gathering the 
 women have been half -asleep; it's just before 
 tea. I try to convey the drowsiness and warmth 
 of the moment it opens very naturally. Lady 
 Plynlimmon's nephew lounges in; Lady Maud 
 Elstree, her daughter, enters. The dialogue 
 turns on a guest there, Sir Clement Thurloe. 
 Fourteen years before, he cut the Guards and 
 disappeared; everyone believed him dead. Now 
 he has returned causing an immense sensation 
 and established his identity. Excuses are made 
 for his youthful wildness, and Society receives 
 him with open arms. He is reported to have been 
 everything in the interval, from a sheep-farmer 
 to a sailor before the mast. When the men return 
 they've been hunting, they're in 'pink' he is,
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 37 
 
 of course, the central figure. He speaks to Maud 
 diffidently; with everyone else he is at his ease, 
 though he refers to his unfamiliarity with a 
 drawing-room. It's shown that he is in love with 
 her, and that her mother hopes to see her marry 
 him." 
 
 "Is 'Maud' a good part?" inquired the actress. 
 
 "Yes, as good as his, I think. You would 
 look it magnificently. It isn't until the act is 
 nearly over that it's sprung upon the audience 
 that he is an impostor; I think it should be a 
 big effect- A 'Mrs. Vaughan' has arrived to see 
 him of course he's on the stage alone. He says 
 that her intrusion here is an outrage he has 
 given her a house, an income, a carriage! what 
 more does she want? She says she wants their 
 compact fulfilled: introductions, society, the 
 chance to make a brilliant match. 'What's the 
 use of a house where nobody comes? I bore 
 myself to death in it!' She is an adventuress 
 who has been who has been a friend of the real 
 man's in New Zealand, and expected to be made 
 his wife. When he died in delirium tremens, she 
 suggested to the protagonist that he should take 
 advantage of his likeness to Sir Clement Thurloe, 
 and her possession of a diary and letters, to 
 personate him. Then there's an outburst of 
 'Clement's' in which he cries that he wishes to
 
 38 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 God he'd never listened to her: 'I was ready 
 enough to take the hand, I own it! But some- 
 how I don't know how it is now I come to 
 play it out, it's different. When a fellow calls 
 himself my pal when a good woman's standing 
 by my side I'd give all I've stolen to be a 
 beggar and a gentleman again 1' ' 
 
 "Well?" said the audience. 
 
 "Well, the interview is interrupted by Lady 
 Plynlimmon's voice: 'Oh, my fan, please; I've 
 forgotten it!' Rhoda Vaughan insists on her 
 rights. 'Clement' beseeches her. She won't 
 budge. Lady Plynlimmon comes down the stair- 
 case, and the act ends with the man, as white as 
 death, introducing the adventuress into the home 
 of the aristocrat he loves." 
 
 "The 'villain' is the hero?" said Miss King. 
 
 "He isn't depicted as a hero. The world's 
 been against him, and he sinned when he was 
 worn out with struggling. He felt that he owed 
 Society nothing that's the idea. Then he meets 
 Maud!" 
 
 "You give away the element of surprise in 
 your title ; still it's good. I don't see any actor- 
 manager playing 'Clement,' though. What is 
 the reason that the modern hero is supposed to 
 lose the sympathy of the audience if he isn't im- 
 mutably noble, while the modern heroine may
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 39 
 
 violate the Decalogue? I'm sorry 'Clement' is a 
 thief. Of course, he's only robbing the 'Crown'? 
 The Crown can afford the loss, I suppose it 
 won't keep the Crown awake at night. Still, a 
 thief is low." 
 
 "But a rogue is human. I don't defend him; 
 I'm not his advocate. I show his sin and his 
 suffering. He is essentially weak the girl he 
 loves is to be won for the asking 
 
 "You don't mean to say he actually marries 
 Maud?" 
 
 "Ah, but the temptation!" exclaimed Oliphant. 
 "You shall hear." 
 
 He told her the rest when they drew to the 
 hearth; drifted from debate to reminiscence 
 recounting, with the eager egotism that is bred 
 of loneliness, something of his boyhood, and re- 
 ceiving impressions of her own life suggestive, 
 feminine in return. He felt that she was turn- 
 ing the pages of his history across his shoulder; 
 and, though he had jestingly declared her posi- 
 tion here to be ordinary, it constantly surprised 
 him when he reflected that only a few hours 
 before they were both companionless, and had 
 never spoken to each other. The room, which 
 had always appeared to him depressing, had this 
 evening an air of gaiety and of home. Even 
 when they were silent, he found it fortifying to
 
 40 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 look at her; and even when he did not look at 
 her, it was delightful to know that she was there. 
 At ten o'clock she rose and said good-night ; but 
 the magic lingered with him after she had gone. 
 The atmosphere was for once exhilarating, and 
 the throb of the unexpected was in it still.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 A REHEARSAL, of the drama in which Oliphant 
 was to commence his siege of London had been 
 called for eleven o'clock the following day. He 
 saw Miss King for a few minutes only before he 
 left the house, but received her permission to try 
 to recover her belongings for her. This was a 
 task which the threat of legal proceedings, and a 
 written acknowledgment of the debt, assisted him 
 to accomplish without much difficulty. He con- 
 veyed the trunk to Burton Crescent by means of 
 a hansom, and then walked through the muddy 
 streets to the Queen's Theatre. 
 
 The Queen's had recently been obtained by 
 an actor who was assuming the management of 
 a theatre for the first time. He had been a 
 leading man for about fifteen years now, but the 
 manager of only a few tours. For this produc- 
 tion, in which the hero's part was exceedingly 
 strong, he had selected the company with the 
 utmost care and, excepting perhaps the Villain, 
 
 41
 
 42 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 there wasn't a member of it in whom he had a 
 rival to fear. 
 
 The stage was dark and draughty. When 
 Oliphant reached it nobody had come but the 
 prompter, who stood by a small table, over- 
 looking the empty orchestra and the auditorium 
 swathed in holland. His hands were plunged in 
 the pockets of his overcoat, and he shivered. He 
 paid small attention to the other's advent, be- 
 cause he was to be described on the playbills as 
 "Assistant Stage-manager," and Oliphant was 
 playing a small part. In the position that he 
 had filled on tour, Oliphant would have joined 
 him at the table; in the position that he filled 
 here, theatrical etiquette forbade it. He walked 
 up and down in the wings, and questioned for 
 the hundredth time if, with such a part as this, 
 Edmund Kean himself could have created an 
 effect. 
 
 The other subordinates commenced to as- 
 semble, and to hang about with him. They 
 watched the principals arrive and stroll to the 
 table unabashed; and tried to hear what they 
 talked about, and envied them their lustrous 
 boots, which showed that they had come in cabs. 
 The Villain recounted a funny incident to the 
 leading lady, and she laughed merrily without 
 having grasped the joke: his salary was under-
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 43 
 
 stood to be thirty pounds a week, and she was 
 only beginning. Besides, the celebrated actor 
 under whom she had studied, and who had 
 obtained the engagement for her, had always 
 declared that her laugh was her strong point. 
 The low comedian demanded of the prompter 
 when they were "going to have the floats." There 
 was considerable delay about this, and general 
 expectancy; and then the footlights ameliorated 
 the gloom a little, and the leading lady, who was 
 very charming, bent over the blaze of light in a 
 pretty attitude to warm her hands. The "small 
 part women" in the wings looked additionally 
 miserable, as they gazed at her, and the mec 
 inquired irritably among themselves "why the 
 devil they were called for eleven." Only one, a 
 youth who had twenty words to deliver, affected 
 to be oblivious of his surroundings. He saun- 
 tered to and fro, muttering and gesticulating, 
 stimulated by the secret thought that somebody 
 of importance might comment on his enthusiasm. 
 A little man, with a hopeless expression, crept 
 down to the footlights, and was greeted with 
 cordiality especially by the young leading lady. 
 He was the author. He had a roll of manuscript 
 in his hand, which represented the alterations he 
 had been urged to make at the last rehearsal.
 
 44 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 He was wondering what further misfortunes 
 would befall him and his drama to-day. 
 
 Signs of impatience might be detected on the 
 faces of the principals also now; but the actor 
 who had a theatre for the first time felt it due to 
 himself to keep the company waiting. He strode 
 through the wings presently, ignoring the minor 
 members who scattered to let him pass and, 
 reaching the prompt-table, raised his hat about 
 half an inch. 
 
 ' 'Morning, ladies and gentlemen," he said 
 curtly to the group about him. He made some 
 remark to the author about the weather, and 
 turned to the assistant stage-manager, whom he 
 addressed as "Mr. Mote." He was fat, and held 
 himself stiffly erect, endeavouring to palliate by 
 his carriage the loss of his figure. In manner he 
 was arrogant, and he had frequently the air of 
 swelling as often as he wished to assert his 
 dignity in private, or to express emotion in a 
 part. 
 
 "Clear the stage, please!" cried Mr. Mote, 
 clapping his hands twice. "Act two, scene one! 
 Sentry ! Come on, Mr. er Williams, please 
 Act two, scene one !" 
 
 The youth who had been immersed in study 
 hurried nervously to that part of the stage where 
 he fancied he was supposed to be pacing battle-
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 45 
 
 ments bathed in moonlight; but he was not cer- 
 tain that he wasn't meant to be in a corridor, 
 looking out of a window. This lent indecision 
 to his movements. He said : 
 
 " 'It's a fine night. How quiet it is !' " 
 
 At the same moment concealed carpenters 
 began to hammer furiously. The youth looked 
 disconcerted, but nobody else took any notice. 
 
 * 'How quiet it is!' " repeated the assistant 
 stage-manager. "Enter the Colonel. 'Colonel,' 
 please ! Mr. er Fowler ! 'How quiet it is' !" 
 
 "I beg your pardon!" The "Colonel" rushed 
 forward. The rehearsal proceeded, and some of 
 the women in the wings found chairs, and chatted 
 in undertones. 
 
 The leading lady begged the Villain to advise 
 her how she should "do her faint" when her lover 
 was sentenced to be shot; and they moved to- 
 gether to where there was space for him to 
 demonstrate his conception of a young girl's 
 behaviour at this crisis. She confessed the fear 
 that she would "find that flight of steps perfectly 
 dreadful!" and he assured her cynically that there 
 were "not many actresses who would object to 
 be given a flight of steps to faint on." As to her 
 train well, it was difficult to show her! But 
 there was a way if she half -turned, and bent 
 00, as she collapsed, it would "fall down stage,
 
 46 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 and the picture would be excellent." The Ad- 
 venturess discussed her baby's first tooth, and 
 the danger of convulsions, with the low comedian, 
 who, as a family man, spoke authoritatively ; and 
 by the side of the author, who sucked his umbrella 
 handle, the Hero sat, shouting comments, and 
 rising from time to time to bluster with more 
 violence. 
 
 The humble aspirants who incurred his dis- 
 pleasure stammered and turned pink; and one 
 girl, whose arm he grasped so hard that he hurt 
 her, in indicating the "business" that he desired, 
 burst into tears. Those whose ordeal was longest 
 were two old men. They had been in the theatres 
 all their lives, but had sunk, from the small posi- 
 tions that they had once attained; to-day they 
 were scarcely above the grade of supernumer- 
 aries. The younger might have been nearly 
 sixty, but he remained burly and rubicund; the 
 other, though probably not much older, appeared 
 to be his senior by fully a decade. In his tightly 
 buttoned frock-coat, painfully thin and shabby, 
 he was the neatest and most pathetic little figure 
 to be conceived, as he struggled to avoid the fiery 
 impatience of the Hero's rebukes. The beautiful 
 old face grew troubled by his eagerness to under- 
 stand what was required of him ; and occasionally, 
 as the actor stamped and bellowed, he glanced at
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 47 
 
 the spectators, as if fearing that his humiliation 
 must excite their ridicule. 
 
 He escaped into the wings at last, and leaning 
 against the wall of the scene-dock, consumed a 
 sandwich, which served him for his dinner, out 
 of a piece of newspaper. 
 
 Some hitch occurred; lines not allotted yet had 
 to be spoken at this juncture. 
 
 "What are we waiting for?" demanded the 
 Hero. "Get on, Mr. Mote, please." 
 
 Mr. Mote explained meekly that the part of 
 the "Lieutenant" was not cast; and there was 
 a few moments' consultation as to which of the 
 actors had better "double" it. The Hero's gaze 
 fell on Oliphant. 
 
 "Here, you!" he said, beckoning; "you can 
 double this," 
 
 Oliphant took the type- written half -sheet 
 among envious glances from the other "small- 
 part men" ; and glancing at the indication at the 
 top, crossed the stage, and began to read. 
 
 He was surprised to find that, few as the lines 
 were, they gave the player scope to distinguish 
 himself. He was supposed to stagger on 
 wounded, with a tale of distant disaster, and 
 appeal to the "Colonel" to despatch aid to his 
 comrades. The performance might have no more 
 than the clap -trap effect of the sudden entrance
 
 48 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 and the reel down the raking-piece ; or it might 
 be one that would rivet the attention of every 
 critic in the house. He saw it more fully with 
 every word he delivered : the chance at that point 
 for a break in the voice ; the effort to be strenuous, 
 and the exhaustion that forbade it; the horror 
 in the man's eyes as he described and saw again 
 the scene from which he had come! A genius 
 with an opportunity like this could have made 
 the success of the evening. He read well at sight 
 customarily; in his gratification he read better 
 than usual ; and the author, who had fallen in love 
 with the lines as he wrote them, ceased to suck 
 the handle of his umbrella, and reflected with a 
 pleasant smile that there were "damn few men 
 in London who could equal his dialogue !" 
 
 The brief speech came to an end; the "Lieuten- 
 ant" swooned; and Mr. Mote called "Captain 
 Harwood!" 
 
 "Where's 'Captain Harwood'?" he said, look- 
 ing round. 
 
 "/ play 'Captain Harwood,' " said Oliphant 
 blankly. 
 
 The hitch was repeated there was renewed 
 consideration. It was impossible that Oliphant 
 could play the "Lieutenant" if he played 
 "Captain Harwood," for both characters had to 
 be on the stage at the same time.
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 49 
 
 "Well, somebody else must double the 'Lieu- 
 tenant,' " said the Hero. "Mr. er Mortimer's 
 not on in this scene ; he can do it." 
 
 Oliphant looked at him in dismay. 
 
 "Would you mind letting somebody else play 
 'Captain Harwood' and my keeping the 'Lieu- 
 tenant'?" he asked. "I like it much the better of 
 the two." 
 
 The Hero made a rather lengthy pause. It 
 was intended to indicate amazement at the impu- 
 dence of questioning his decision. 
 
 "We won't discuss which of the two you like 
 best, if you please," he said imperiously. "Mr. 
 Mortimer! Come here! . . . You'll study the 
 part of the 'Lieutenant' by to-morrow; Mr. Mote 
 will give it you. . . . Goon, Mr. er Oliphant; 
 take up your cue, please Enter 'Captain Har- 
 wood'!" 
 
 The rehearsal was resumed, and Oliphant went 
 through his daily task like an automaton. That 
 flash of hope was already extinguished. He 
 hadn't realised how great his delight had been 
 at the prospect opened to him until the speedy 
 disappointment revealed it. His heart felt like 
 lead within him, and he was glad when he was 
 free to efface himself, and lament and smoke 
 in comparative privacy at the stage-door. But
 
 50 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 he had to go back, to speak a single line in 
 another act. 
 
 The author observed his return, and went over 
 to him; he regretted the Hero's high-handed 
 arrangement, for the sake of the young man, and 
 chiefly for the sake of the piece. Mr. Mortimer's 
 performance in the new part would not be start- 
 ling, to judge by the stolidity he displayed in the 
 one he was rehearsing already. 
 
 "It was a pity you didn't keep the 'Lieuten- 
 ant,' Mr. Oliphant, I think," he remarked; "you 
 read it very well." 
 
 Oliphant knew the glow that comes to every 
 young actor when one in authority praises him. 
 And it was the first time he had been addressed 
 by the author. 
 
 "You may imagine J'm sorry; but you saw 
 what happened, Mr. Campbell," he said, shrug- 
 ging his shoulders. 
 
 "Yes; but it's a pity; you were very good 
 indeed. I'll speak about it afterwards and see 
 what can be done." 
 
 The Hero had just been murmuring noble 
 sentiments, which would eventually be delivered 
 fortissimo, and as he made his exit, the sight of 
 Oliphant and the dramatist together met his eye. 
 He stalked across to them, with a swollen chest 
 and distended nostrils.
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 51 
 
 "What do you mean," he exclaimed, "by ap- 
 pealing to Mr. Campbell against me? How dare 
 you?" 
 
 "No, no," said the author, "he didn't. It was 
 I who spoke to Mr. Oliphant." 
 
 "/ am manager in this theatre," continued the 
 actor passionately, disregarding the explanation. 
 "Be good enough to understand that, Mr. Oli- 
 phant, once and for all! If you're not satisfied 
 with the part you're playing, you're not obliged 
 to play anything, you can resign your engage- 
 ment. I have said you play 'Captain Harwood,' 
 and that's the end of it. No, Campbell, my boy! 
 No, no, my boy ! I can't allow that sort of thing 
 -I can't!" 
 
 There was a second in which Oliphant was 
 tempted fiercely to answer that he did resign his 
 engagement, but the knowledge of the straits 
 that the indulgence would entail held him dumb. 
 Though he had been in the theatrical profession 
 seven years, this was his first experience of a 
 managerial bully like the Hero, and he was sick 
 with shame and rage. 
 
 His line in the ensuing act was no sooner 
 uttered than he left the building. He had quite 
 forgotten Alma King; his consciousness at the 
 moment was only of the part that had been torn 
 from him, and of the insult that he had been
 
 52 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 compelled to swallow. It was when five minutes 
 had passed that the remembrance that he would 
 find her in the lodging recurred to him; and 
 fortified a trifle by the recollection he hastened 
 homeward. 
 
 She was at the table in the drawing-room, 
 writing letters applications for engagement. A 
 copy of The Stage lay near the cheap stationery 
 and the penny bottle of ink. 
 
 "Am I in the way?" he said. 
 
 "Why should you be in the way? It's I who 
 ought to ask that. Well?" 
 
 "Well, it isn't well! I'm angry, furious, in 
 the blues!" He burst out with the tale of what 
 had happened, and the sympathy in her face was 
 sweet to him as he reached the point. "If only 
 I could have afforded to answer the cad!" he 
 exclaimed; "I think I'm ashamed of myself that 
 I didn't!" 
 
 "It's at times like this that poverty scalds," 
 she said. "I know your feeling I've had it so 
 often. But you were perfectly, perfectly right 
 not to throw your part up it would have been 
 insane ! You might have had to wait months for 
 another chance in town." 
 
 "I suppose you're right," said Oliphant, "that 
 1 was right. But all the same, it's just one of
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 53 
 
 those instances of his wisdom that a man isn't 
 proud to recall." 
 
 "You're inclined to be morbid, aren't you?" 
 said Miss King thoughtfully. "In the way you 
 look at things generally? Just a little!" 
 
 He flushed. "I've never been told so before. 
 It's well, I've been a good deal alone; perhaps 
 it's due to that, if I am." 
 
 "I think you are. . . . You look as if I had 
 accused you of a crime." 
 
 "You took me aback, rather. It sounds weak, 
 too. Do you think I'm weak?" 
 
 "I should say you are emotional. . . . Well, 
 'weak' as well then, yes! in some ways. ... I 
 don't think you will be spoilt by success if you 
 get it. That's the greatest test of character." 
 
 "Poverty is supposed to be the greatest test," 
 he said. 
 
 "Yes. But I don't believe it is. Poverty 
 hardens a character by degrees, but success lays 
 it bare in a flash. You would be very nice to 
 the small people, if you were a manager, I'm 
 sure. If you were the manager, for example, I 
 should receive an answer to this." She pointed 
 to one of the letters beside her. 
 
 "What is it for?" asked Oliphant; "is it any- 
 thing worth having?"
 
 54. THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 "It is an appeal for a second-rate part in a 
 fifth-rate company. If I am fortunate, I shall 
 play in a different town every other night, and 
 search for a new lodging every other day. The 
 advertisement concludes : 'People who can't keep 
 sober, save stamps!' ' 
 
 "Good heavens!" cried the man; "you don't 
 mean to say you apply for those things? They're 
 not addressed to you. Have you ever travelled 
 in a Portable?" 
 
 "No; I can imagine what it is like, though, 
 fully." 
 
 "But they don't want an artist, Miss King; 
 they don't want an actress! Do you know what 
 the audience that you would play to is like? Do 
 you know what the salary is like? Have you 
 any idea what the company is like that you'd 
 be with? You wouldn't be able to endure the 
 engagement for a fortnight if you got it." 
 
 The girl's gesture had dignity as well as weari- 
 ness. 
 
 "You seem to forget," she said quietly; "I 
 am not in a position to consider these drawbacks. 
 I'm here on your introduction with only a few 
 shillings in the world; and I owe money at the 
 house I have left. I'm not afraid your landlady 
 would turn me out in a week's time or even in 
 a month's: she trusts me and you! But what
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 55 
 
 kind of woman should I be if I took advantage 
 of your introduction and her confidence?" 
 
 "I don't suggest you should take any advan- 
 tage at all. There's such a thing as being too 
 conscientious. It would be too conscientious if 
 you hampered your career rather than accept a 
 few weeks' credit, or a friend's help. As a matter 
 of fact, it makes no difference to Mrs. Tubbs 
 whether she gets her rent every Monday or every 
 month ; she doesn't depend on letting lodgings 
 if she did, she'd be in the workhouse! She has 
 some share in a business that her brother has; 
 he's an upholsterer in Mabledon Place." 
 
 "I shan't take such an engagement if I can 
 get an ordinary one quickly, you may be sure," 
 she said; "it will have to be my sole resource. 
 But I know the meaning of 'duty' ! it's my duty 
 to sacrifice my interests and pay. I've never 
 done anything I knew to be wrong in my life. 
 Oh, I don't forget I let a stranger speak to me 
 yesterday and I can't complain if you think it 
 wasn't the first time ! and I asked him in to my 
 room; and it was a mistake that I shall regret 
 to the day I die. But it wasn't wrong. And you 
 know it wasn't 'wrong'; and God knows there 
 was no more of 'wrong' in my heart when I 
 opened that door to you than if we had both been 
 children. I regret it I always shall but I'm
 
 56 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 not ashamed of it ; if I were ashamed, I'm afraid 
 my goodness would go altogether, and I couldn't 
 live! I'm not going to despise myself now and 
 be a coward, and contemptible, rather than 
 'hamper my career,' as you put it." 
 
 "I won't urge you to do anything you're 
 opposed to," responded Oliphant slowly, after a 
 moment had passed. "But you've said one thing 
 I want to answer ; it meant you couldn't complain 
 if if I were ignorant enough to think lightly of 
 you. I should like you to hear me say that I 
 respect you more than any woman I've ever 
 met." 
 
 The subject of her endeavours was not re- 
 sumed till the morrow, when he was leaving for 
 the Queen's. Then she announced an intention 
 of calling again on all the dramatic agents who 
 had her name on their books ; and he walked some 
 part of the way to the Strand beside her. 
 
 The thought of what doubtless awaited her 
 in these offices, towards which scores of other 
 women, equally avid of employment, were hurry- 
 ing from all quarters of London at the same 
 time, forbade boldness to them both, and Oli- 
 phant parted from her with small expectation 
 of hearing good news when they met at tea. 
 
 His haste to escape from the theatre the pre- 
 vious afternoon had left him uncertain at what
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 57 
 
 hour the rehearsal would commence this morning, 
 but glancing at the call-board as he entered the 
 passage, he found that he had guessed correctly. 
 The Hero, however, was already on the stage, 
 and it was immediately evident that his resent- 
 ment was not forgotten. He stalked across to 
 the young man without delay, his chest and 
 nostrils expanded to their fullest capacity. 
 
 "Oh er I shan't want you for the piece at 
 all, Mr. Oliphant," he said haughtily. "Give 
 your part back to Mr. Mote, please ! You er 
 aren't tall enough."
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THERE was no written agreement; Oliphant 
 had been engaged, as hundreds of actors and 
 actresses are engaged every year, by word of 
 mouth. Even if it had been otherwise, he could 
 not have afforded to test the legality of the 
 reprisal. He was dismissed because the author 
 had condoled with him on the Hero's auto- 
 cracy. "Nothing happens but the unforeseen": 
 the actor had left the lodging to attend a re- 
 hearsal, expecting to draw two pounds a week 
 during the run of the play; the actress had left 
 it, despondent, to make the round of the agents. 
 The man returned without a prospect; and the 
 girl came back with an "offer." 
 
 She was offered an engagement to go to South 
 Africa. The manager, who had come to London 
 for the purpose of organising a company, had 
 been in the second office that she entered had 
 noticed her, asked the agent her name, and 
 concluded the arrangement on the spot. At 
 rehearsals she would have to prove herself com- 
 
 58
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 59 
 
 petent; but on this point she had no misgivings, 
 and she was overjoyed. 
 
 "It was the purest chance!" she cried. "He 
 has been here a fortnight, and Ash has never 
 mentioned him to me or me to him. If I had 
 been five minutes later, he'd have gone, and I 
 shouldn't even have known I had missed an 
 opportunity. But, of course, I shall have to 
 pay Ash his commission just the same it was 
 in his office." She paused inquiringly. "Is any- 
 thing the matter?" she asked. "Has it been un- 
 pleasant again to-day?" 
 
 Oliphant told her briefly what had occurred. 
 
 What could she say? The first effect of sym- 
 pathy is to weight the sympathiser's tongue, and 
 the second is to render her self-conscious. "I 
 am so sorry," murmured Miss King and heard 
 the echo of the vapid answer for ten seconds. 
 "What shall you do?" she continued. 
 
 "I must look for something else." 
 
 "In London?" 
 
 "Oh yes, in London; at all events in London 
 as yet. I want to get in, I want to get in ! The 
 stage-doors are stouter than the starling's bars. 
 But I've been hurling myself against them too 
 long to turn away and pretend the grapes are 
 sour now. They're sweet, Miss King, they're 
 luscious, and my mouth's watering for them!"
 
 60 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 "You might come back to the charge all the 
 stronger for a rest," she suggested. 
 
 "Yes, and all the older don't forget that. I 
 left the provinces swearing that I'd get a hearing 
 here. I've applied everywhere. I've tramped 
 the streets, and worn out my boots, and the 
 sinews of war are reduced to shillings: I'm not 
 going to feel that all that has been thrown away 
 while I've my health and a watch and chain. 
 London owes me for the energy I've expended. 
 And one of these days it's going to pay me for 
 it with compound interest. If I returned to 
 the provinces now, I should feel that I had made 
 a bad debt, and the thought that I'd made a 
 bad debt would make me a bad actor, and if I 
 were a bad actor, I should have no excuse for 
 existing in this overcrowded world at all! If 
 
 I'm not an actor, I'm nothing, and This 
 
 isn't strength of character, it's hysteria, to be 
 perfectly truthful; I don't suppose I could get a 
 provincial engagement before the spring if I 
 tried." 
 
 "Haven't you any friends?" 
 
 "Haven't I any friends?" he repeated medita- 
 tively. "Well, I've relations; I go to see them 
 occasionally when I've a new suit of clothes. 
 They aren't in the profession nor in England, 
 at the present time so we needn't take them
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 61 
 
 into account. But, yes, I have a friend I've 
 an extraordinary friend I've a friend who, I 
 honestly believe, would lend me a thousand 
 pounds if I asked him for it." 
 
 She looked to see if he was serious. "Is this 
 hysteria too?" 
 
 "No, this is a sober fact. I was at Oxford 
 with him and we were very chummy. He had 
 leanings towards literature, and every qualifica- 
 tion for embracing it, including the most im- 
 portant it didn't matter to him in the least if 
 he never made it pay. He was worth about ten 
 thousand a year when he was nine years old. 
 We haven't met very often lately, but I'm bound 
 to admit that that's entirely my fault. When I 
 do dine with him, I find him as good a fellow as 
 ever he was. I should be very fond of him if he 
 hadn't untold wealth like the prince in a fairy 
 tale; I struggled with the ten thousand a year, 
 but the accumulations of his minority were the 
 last straw." 
 
 "You don't expect me to believe that, of 
 course?" she said. 
 
 "Why not does it sound petty? Perhaps I 
 didn't express myself very well; I mean we 
 should still be pals if he weren't so rich. Two 
 men whose lives are antithetical can't be very 
 'pally,' you know. A very rich man and a very
 
 68 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 poor one may like each other extremely they 
 may find each other very estimable and interest- 
 ing but they can't find each other so companion- 
 able as if they were both flush, or both beggars. 
 Otho Fairbairn keeps racehorses, and and is a 
 dear good fellow. But Z find it difficult to keep 
 myself ; and though we've points in common, I'm 
 perfectly aware that by the time we've finished a 
 cigar each, he begins to feel the evening would 
 be livelier if he'd asked a 'chappie' who was going 
 down to Kempton, too, next day. Abstractions 
 pall. I can talk to you much more freely than 
 I can to Fairbairn, though I've known him for 
 years. . . . Tell me you go to the Cape with a 
 repertoire, of course. What are the pieces?" 
 
 She named them one was running at a West 
 End house. "I'm to go to see it; I shall write 
 in to-day. If you like I'll ask for two seats, and 
 we might go together." 
 
 "I'd like it very much; I was thinking of writ- 
 ing in myself. What line are you playing?" 
 
 "Oh, lead," she said. 
 
 "Really?" 
 
 "Oh yes, I'm engaged for lead; and the parts 
 are excellent, aren't they? It will be splendid 
 experience, too, with a repertoire. It's a good 
 thing I have my trunk; but even as it is ... 
 I have to find the modern wardrobe myself, you
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 63 
 
 know! Still I shall be all right for the first fort- 
 night, and I can get one or two frocks in Cape 
 Town." 
 
 She did not mention what her salary was to be, 
 though; and in view of the circumstances, and 
 her general frankness, the peculiarity of the 
 reservation struck Oliphant as forcibly as if he 
 were again a novice. He remembered living with 
 an actor years before and listening to his domestic 
 anxieties until three o'clock in the morning, and 
 there was nothing the actor hadn't communicated 
 when the tour came to an end excepting how 
 much a week he received. Past salaries were 
 quoted; and there were confidences about his 
 mother's intemperance and the shortcomings of 
 his wife; but his "terms" of to-day were tacitly 
 understood to be a sacred matter. 
 
 With this single exception the only profes- 
 sional trait he had observed in her Miss King 
 was candour personified. The tickets for the 
 theatre arrived, "With the acting manager's 
 compliments," and she and Oliphant spent an 
 evening in the dress-circle. Both enjoyed it. To 
 be able to lounge in a velvet fauteuil in evening 
 dress, when he can ill afford the sixpence for the 
 programme, is the one advantage that the actor 
 out of work possesses over the rest of the un- 
 employed. His dinner may have been a sausage,
 
 64 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 and for supper nothing may await him at all; 
 but a draught of oblivion is, at least, permitted 
 him by the kindly etiquette of "the profession"; 
 and many a hopeless heart has been fortified 
 by it. 
 
 Yet it is tantalising, sometimes maddening. 
 Sometimes it fills the breast of the actor out of 
 work with such longings that he wrings his hands 
 with desire this view, from the Delectable 
 Mountains, of the Celestial City whose gates are 
 closed. Oliphant enjoyed the performance to 
 watch good acting gave him as keen a delight as 
 a musician derives from a superb instrumentalist ; 
 but to him the pleasure of the evening was alloyed 
 by the craving that assailed him in the entr'actes. 
 To Miss King there was no alloy. The girl fore- 
 saw herself in the part of the favourite actress 
 whom she had come to study and to criticise ; and 
 it was almost like witnessing her own success. 
 She sat recalling the "business," debating 
 whether it could be improved, and thrilling with 
 the anticipation of delivering certain lines. 
 
 The epoch of the drama was admirably 
 adapted to her. She seemed created to wear the 
 robes of a bygone age almost any bygone age 
 and move among great deeds. She would have 
 looked lovely as Juliet, which she wanted to play ; 
 as Hypatia, which she hadn't thought of, she
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 65 
 
 would have been ideal; the intense earnestness 
 of the part was there in her face. Oliphant was 
 again conscious of this when they left the theatre, 
 and turned homeward through the wet streets. 
 He was also conscious that not one woman in a 
 hundred, trembling with thanksgiving, would 
 have divined his mood and troubled to assuage 
 it by the first remark she made : 
 
 "I daresay you'll be playing there one day!" 
 
 "I?" he exclaimed. 
 
 "I daresay. If you were as sure of your future 
 as I am, you'd be happier." 
 
 "But why?" 
 
 "How shall I define? You're an enthusiast 
 there aren't so many of them in our profession! 
 But it isn't that either I suppose enthusiasts fail 
 too. You impress me with the idea that you'll 
 succeed, and I've never had the conviction about 
 any one else. If I've been curious about people 
 at all, it has been to wonder why on earth they 
 ever took to the stage." 
 
 "Because it's the laziest life." 
 
 "Say it may be; don't you study?" 
 
 "Oh, 7 do; but have you been on many tours 
 where the people did?" 
 
 "Of course one can take it easy, if one likes, 
 now there are no more stock companies. It 
 couldn't have been very 'lazy' in the old days
 
 66 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 when one had to master three or four parts a 
 week. Those were the times to make actresses 
 when one sat up all night studying with a wet 
 towel round one's head! when one was Lady 
 Macbeth on Monday, and Lady Gay Spanker on 
 Tuesday. Ah, heavenly times! Yes, to people 
 who don't work at home it is the laziest life now, 
 I suppose during an engagement ; they're fairly 
 busy when they're 'resting.' What are you going 
 to try for to-morrow?" 
 
 "I'm going to try to see Townsend," he said. 
 "You know they are producing a piece of his at 
 the West Central. I once went out in one of his 
 things ; and he rehearsed the company. He was 
 kind enough to think me good." 
 
 "Will he remember you?" 
 
 "An author never remembers anything except 
 his grudge against the critic who gave him a bad 
 notice, but I shall remind him who I am. I hear 
 they have only engaged the principals so far, and 
 the first call is for twelve o'clock to-morrow. I 
 mean to waylay him as he goes in." 
 
 To waylay a man as he goes in ; to scheme for 
 an introduction to another who doesn't want to 
 know you; to submit to rudeness, and disguise 
 privation under well-cut clothes; to smile in the 
 Strand and break your heart in private, are the 
 essential preliminaries to success on the stage,
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 67 
 
 unless you have money, or your father was a 
 favourite actor. 
 
 Miss King was rehearsing in a large room over 
 a public-house in Covent Garden, and after 
 accompanying her there next day, Oliphant 
 proceeded to his destination. The stage-door of 
 the West Central was in a narrow court not more 
 than five minutes distant, and he reached it too 
 early. Rather than incur the risk of missing the 
 dramatist, though, he remained; and casting 
 eager glances in the direction in which the man 
 must come, endeavoured to persuade himself that 
 he was hopeful. To be hopeful is to wear a 
 cheerful expression, and a cheerful expression is 
 valuable to the applicant for favours. 
 
 When Mr. Townsend appeared he was walk- 
 ing at a swift pace. He passed Oliphant without 
 any sign of recognition, and, hastening after him, 
 the young man said diffidently : 
 
 "Mr. Townsend!" 
 
 "Eh? Yes; what is it?" 
 
 "You don't remember me; my name's Royce 
 Oliphant; I played 'Albert Kenyon' in Don 
 Quixote of Belgravia the Number 1 Com- 
 pany." 
 
 "Oh y-e-s, yes. How d'ye do, Mr. Oliphant?" 
 
 "Is there any part open in this? I should be
 
 68 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 immensely glad to get a chance at the West 
 Central." 
 
 "I'm afraid the cast is complete. You er 
 might drop me a reminder when the tour starts. 
 I'm afraid there's nothing open in the produc- 
 tion." 
 
 "Not a small part? To come to town I'd take 
 twenty lines." 
 
 The author mused. 
 
 "Well, there's a I don't know; I'll see. It's 
 just possible that I can offer you something. You 
 might wait a second, will you?" 
 
 He plunged into the gloomy entrance, and 
 clattered down the stairs. And a quarter of an 
 hour went by. 
 
 When he emerged he was with the stage- 
 manager. Oliphant's momentary expectation, 
 however, faded into blankness as he saw that Mr. 
 Townsend had forgotten all about him. He 
 stopped him again: 
 
 "Mr. Townsend 1" 
 
 "Eh? Oh, yes, yes. I have to go round to 
 the front with Mr. Bensusan now. I'll see you 
 when I come back. Don't go away; I shan't be 
 ten minutes." 
 
 The actor made a cigarette, and stood before 
 the door like a sentinel. An hour passed. He 
 would have liked to sit down, but there was no-
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 69 
 
 where to sit. Two hours passed two hours and 
 a half. Still Mr. Townsend did not return. In 
 desperation at last Oliphant went in search of 
 him. At the box-office it was believed that he 
 would be found at lunch in the restaurant across 
 the road; and he was discovered eating oysters. 
 He looked up as Oliphant approached him. 
 
 "Oh oh, Mr. Oliphant! yes, of course! I 
 mentioned the matter to Mr. Bensusan ; but there 
 are wheels within wheels, you know, my boy! 
 I can't work it. I'm sorry." 
 
 "It can't be helped," said Oliphant. "Thanks 
 for doing what you could." 
 
 He turned away, and paused among the tur- 
 moil of the Strand, considering what to try for 
 next. The odour of the restaurant lurked in his 
 nostrils enticingly, and a passing omnibus threw 
 a clot of mud in his face.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 A FEW days later Miss King sailed for the 
 Cape. She had contrived to discharge her debt 
 to Mrs. Tubbs probably by the sacrifice of 
 something from her trunk : Oliphant did not hear 
 how the payment was accomplished and the 
 widow deplored her departure on every occasion 
 that she appeared with the remaining lodger's 
 tea and toast. 
 
 Oliphant missed the girl too more than he 
 would have believed was possible considering how 
 brief a time she had lived there. He felt lonelier 
 than ever now when he returned to the empty 
 drawing-room after tramping the pavements in 
 vain. It is one of the painful features of the 
 theatrical life that the friends of to-day are so 
 often strangers to-morrow; every tour sees inti- 
 macies formed among people who, after the com- 
 pany is disbanded, may not meet one another 
 again for years. But Miss King had been met in 
 an unusual way, and in this case his own environ- 
 ment remained the same. Its sameness empha- 
 sised her absence, and lent a pathos to it. 
 
 70
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 71 
 
 It was about a week after their farewell that 
 something unlocked for happened something 
 that promised to alter the whole complexion of 
 his affairs. A letter lay on his hot-water can 
 one morning, and a letter was sufficiently rare 
 for him to open it with eagerness. When he had 
 read it his eyes sparkled, and the attic looked 
 lovelier. London had a heart after all, and he 
 could hear it beating. London was human ! The 
 agent with whom he had left The Impostor wrote 
 that he could place it for immediate production 
 at a West End house. The percentage offered 
 was very fair in view of the author's obscurity; 
 and a hundred pounds, on account of fees, would 
 be paid when the contract was signed. Oliphant 
 was asked to reply at once, stating whether he 
 was prepared to accept the terms. He stood 
 still and laughed. 
 
 Yes, he was "prepared"! His hands shook as 
 he dressed. He would reply in person. That 
 the drama had been accepted three times already 
 and that three contracts for it had been broken, 
 did not damp his exhilaration, for the offer of 
 money on account showed that business was 
 meant, and besides, the production was to be 
 "immediate." For once he left Burton Crescent 
 buoyantly. Like the attic, the familiar windows 
 of Marchmont Street had an unfamiliar air. The
 
 72 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 confectioner's which had recently appeared to 
 mock him with its display of unattainable short- 
 bread decorated with New Year's greetings in 
 citron and sugar-plums the little toy-shop, 
 lower down, where he bought his papers the 
 oranges and tomatoes, and apples and chestnuts, 
 on a stall under the tarpaulin everything smiled 
 to him to-day; he contemplated the landmarks 
 with affection. Even the Strand though he 
 could never love the Strand he was able, at 
 least, to forgive. He remembered the sufferings 
 it had inflicted without resentment. He had got 
 the better of the Strand at last! 
 
 What a good fellow was the agent ! though he 
 had never struck him in that light before. How 
 difficult, as the brilliant details were imparted, 
 to disguise that the thing appeared incredible, 
 something too marvellous to be true. "Clement" 
 was to be played by Herbert Rayne, who hoped 
 to obtain a lease of the Dominion. Herbert 
 Rayne would be excellent as "Clement." And 
 he had a reputation the part of the hero was 
 in first-rate hands. Would Oliphant meet him 
 here on the morrow at, say, one o'clock? Yes, 
 he would not fail; it was an appointment. His 
 blood bubbled in his veins as he proposed a drink. 
 There was a flicker of feeble sunlight on the
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 73 
 
 puddles when they stood outside, and he saw a 
 blaze that dazzled him. 
 
 How charming was Herbert Rayne when the 
 interview took place and signatures were written! 
 How novel it was to be deferred to by a popular 
 actor, with astrakhan on his overcoat, and to 
 discuss with him the qualifications of other popu- 
 lar actors! What did the author think of Miss 
 Proctor for "Lady Maud"? The author, aston- 
 ished at his boldness, confessed that he had 
 always thought Miss Proctor lacked sympathy. 
 Rayne agreed with him she did. And she asked 
 thirty pounds a week, which was absurd. He 
 suggested somebody else, and they walked down 
 the Strand together arm in arm. And they were 
 seen by two persons to whom Oliphant was 
 known! He was mortal and the fact gratified 
 him. 
 
 "You're an actor yourself, Mr. Oliphant, eh?" 
 said Rayne. "How about playing in the piece?" 
 
 "I don't think so, thanks," laughed the young 
 man; "I shall be nervous enough as it is!" 
 
 "It would be good business for you author's 
 fees and a salary too! But, of course, you're 
 right ; it'd be a mistake. I think I shall be able 
 to get the Dominion I shall know this week. 
 I've made them a fair offer. The rent they ask 
 is a hundred and fifty, but that's all pickles!"
 
 74. THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 No longer compelled to husband the few 
 sovereigns that remained from the loan on his 
 watch and chain, Oliphant proposed luncheon, 
 and Rayne did not decline the invitation. On 
 the contrary, he declared there was only one place 
 to lunch at, and that was Dolibo's. 
 
 "It's the best cooking in London, I say; and 
 then it saves time as everybody goes there, one 
 meets all the people one has to see. I must intro- 
 duce you to Ravioli." 
 
 So they jumped into a hansom, and drove to 
 Dolibo's; and Oliphant was duly introduced to 
 ravioli, which he had presumed was a composer, 
 but which turned out to be a mess that tasted of 
 nothing but the tomatoes. Nevertheless it was 
 a delightful day. And the fact that the agent, 
 after deducting the amount of the commission, 
 had given him a crossed cheque, was the only 
 alloy to his satisfaction. 
 
 Rayne's confidence was justified and the Do- 
 minion was secured. There were various hopes 
 that were not fulfilled either the salaries asked 
 were prohibitive, or it was found that the artists 
 would not be disengaged soon enough. The 
 "Lady Maud" on whom Oliphant had set his 
 heart was attacked by pleurisy three days before 
 the date of the first rehearsal, and in her place 
 was Miss Blanche Ellerton, whom he had never
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 75 
 
 seen, and who was by comparison unknown. The 
 morning arrived, however, when the company 
 assembled at the theatre to hear Royce Oliphant 
 read his play. 
 
 He arrived early. It was at this period his 
 constant endeavour to avoid all the faults and 
 affectations that he had execrated in others. He 
 had rendered himself rather a nuisance by the 
 earnestness of his attempts to obtain small parts 
 for his acquaintances, who, from the moment the 
 earliest announcement was made, besieged him 
 with written and oral reminders of their exist- 
 ence. That he had not succeeded in a single 
 instance was due to circumstances that he could 
 not help; but the failure troubled him, and he 
 had felt that his explanations must sound as 
 hollow to his former colleagues as the explana- 
 tions of his present associates had hitherto ap- 
 peared to himself. He arrived early. 
 
 The others were before him, though. A semi- 
 circle of chairs had been formed on the stage, as 
 if in readiness for a minstrel entertainment ; and 
 facing it, under the T-piece, was the one reserved 
 for himself. Mr. Rayne made several remarks 
 to him, which he believed he answered : he had the 
 vaguest idea of their tenor. He noted a pretty, 
 fair girl, who wore a feather boa, lifting attentive 
 eyes to him, and hoped she could act. He saw
 
 76 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 the manuscript and a glass of water on the 
 prompt-table, and shivered as the patient at the 
 dentist's shivers at the sight of the forceps. He 
 approached the prompt-table and put his um- 
 brella on it ! He had touched the apex. 
 
 "Good-morning, ladies and gentlemen," he 
 said, in a voice that he didn't recognise. 
 
 The remembrance assailed him that more than 
 one of these people to whom he was about to 
 read bore names that were household words 
 among playgoers, and he turned suddenly giddy. 
 He wished that Rayne had not known he was 
 an actor, for he was certain he should read like 
 an amateur of the worst kind. He fumbled with 
 the leaves of the manuscript, and cleared his 
 throat, and sipped the water. 
 
 "The Impostor" he began. 
 
 He dashed into the stage-directions, which 
 gave him a moment to accustom himself to the 
 situation ; and he gabbled them vilely. It seemed 
 to him five minutes in reality it was less than 
 thirty seconds before he had his voice under 
 control at all. His predominant and paralysing 
 thought was that everybody would be bored to 
 death hours before he had finished. 
 
 To read a play well is an achievement of which 
 very few are capable; for to read a play well 
 means to render perhaps fifteen parts, and the
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 77 
 
 more thoroughly one character may be realised, 
 the more difficult it becomes to change instan- 
 taneously to the next. When the reader is the 
 author too, sensitive to each movement of every 
 member of his audience, strained to sickness with 
 the double responsibility, the ordeal is beyond 
 description. It was twelve o'clock when Oli- 
 phant sat down; it was four o'clock when, after 
 three brief intervals, he closed the covers of the 
 last act. During two hours he knew that he had 
 done the best of which he was capable. He 
 looked up at the girl with the feather boa, and 
 he saw that to her thinking, at all events, The 
 Impostor spelt success. 
 
 There was a hum of congratulation. Every- 
 body had a smile; the girl exclaimed feelingly, 
 "Oh, it's beautiful!" And an elderly woman, 
 who, Oliphant assumed was cast for "Lady 
 Plynlimmon," said with quiet authority, "The 
 play is sure oh, sure!" at which Rayne looked 
 much pleased. 
 
 Then there were introductions, and more flat- 
 tering comments made. And at last, not quite 
 certain whether he was awake or in a dream, 
 Oliphant escaped to gulp the air, after hearing 
 that everyone was expected at twelve again the 
 following morning. 
 
 It might be imagined that the rehearsals would
 
 78 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 prove no novelty to him, but they were astound- 
 ingly new. Familiar things were all at once pre- 
 sented to him in a fresh light just as light had 
 been shed already on Mr. Townsend's behaviour 
 at the West Central. A rehearsal here was as 
 different from the rehearsals to which he was 
 used as different from a rehearsal at the 
 Queen's, for example as the captain's impres- 
 sion of the voyage is from a passenger's. 
 Hitherto his sole anxiety had been his own per- 
 formance now he was anxious about everyone's; 
 and, too diffident to pull up the artists publicly 
 in order to obtain the inflections he desired, his 
 brain swam in trying to remember the thousand- 
 and-one suggestions he wanted to make to them 
 in private. He was harassed day and night by 
 the remembrance of warnings about something 
 which somebody had felt it "only right" to utter. 
 He was drawn aside by "Lady Plynlimmon" to 
 be cautioned that the stage-management was 
 ruining her most important scene; Voysey, the 
 stage-manager, informed him that his refusal to 
 have incidental music was going to "damn the 
 show"; and Rayne came down to the theatre one 
 morning with the opinion that the "hero was an 
 unmitigated blackguard." Even when the inci- 
 dental music was conceded, it was not the end of 
 the matter. Oliphant derived his principal com-
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 79 
 
 pensation from watching the rehearsals of the 
 girl with the feather boa, who had proved to be 
 Blanche Ellerton. Though she was not more 
 than three or four and twenty, her performance 
 promised to be admirable in fact, she was an 
 ideal "Maud." Her girlishness was so "natural," 
 her pathos was so unforced, that she delighted 
 him. So when she turned to him one day in 
 excitement and despair, he was ready to take 
 her side before he had heard what her grievance 
 was. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Oliphant," she exclaimed, "please, 
 please tell Mr. Voysey that that awful number 
 they play through my soliloquy won't do! It 
 kills it. I simply can't act if they play it. The 
 situation wants something plaintive, and Mr. 
 Van Putten has written a jig!" 
 
 Oliphant hadn't remarked the incongruity, and 
 said so. 
 
 "Well, ask him to let you hear it. Will you? 
 Do!" 
 
 "Certainly I will," he answered; "I'll ask him 
 now." 
 
 The conductor was sitting by the piano at the 
 opposite corner of the stage, and Oliphant went 
 over to him. 
 
 "Mr. Van Putten," he said, "I wish you'd let
 
 80 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 me hear one of the numbers you've written. Do 
 you mind?" 
 
 "Zo?" said the conductor coldly. He inquired 
 which number it was. 
 
 Miss Ellerton joined them. "Number three," 
 she said. 
 
 "Ha, ha!" said Mr. Van Putten; "dee lady 
 find zomeding wrong mid it, yes? Ha, ha! Zir, 
 I 'ave gombosed dee music for all dee brincibal 
 deatres in London ; but dee gombany knows best, 
 ain't it? Zo, I vill blay it!" 
 
 He did. In describing it as a "jig" the actress 
 had exaggerated, but not more wildly than was 
 pardonable in the artistic temperament. 
 
 "It's very fine," said Oliphant; "yes, thank 
 you. Still, I fancy that for the situation some- 
 thing a little slower would be better; it doesn't 
 quite fit the lines. Perhaps you've noticed it 
 yourself?" 
 
 "What's the matter?" demanded Mr. Voysey. 
 
 "Dee audor and dee lady gomblain of dee 
 music." 
 
 Without any premonitory symptoms Mr. Voy- 
 sey exploded. The conductor posed resignedly, 
 with the offending number drooping from his 
 hand. The rehearsal was stopped, and a heated 
 argument continued for five minutes. Rayne 
 agreed with everybody all at once.
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 81 
 
 "It's Miss Ellerton's scene," repeated Oli- 
 phant, "and if she doesn't feel the number it 
 ought to be changed. We can't sacrifice the 
 actress to the incidental music!" 
 
 "Oh, that's enough, Mr. Oliphantl" cried the 
 stage-manager. "All right, all right, all right! 
 I've had thirty-five years' experience in the pro- 
 fession, but I'm always ready to learn. Produce 
 the piece your way ! I may as well go home, as 
 I don't know my business." 
 
 However, he picked up the manuscript again 
 at the same moment. Miss Ellerton had gained 
 her point, and the rehearsal was resumed. 
 
 "You got me into nice trouble," Oliphant said 
 to her by and by. 
 
 "Oh, it was so good of you!" she answered 
 radiantly. "But wasn't it hideous? It set one's 
 teeth on edge." 
 
 "It was a trifle weird," he agreed. 
 
 "You don't know how grateful I am! I 
 couldn't, I simply couldn't have acted to that 
 ghastly noise. . . . Have you seen the boy any- 
 where lately?" 
 
 "Do you want anything?" 
 
 "I want him to fetch me a bun. I'm famished, 
 and we shan't get away till five if we're going 
 through the last act." 
 
 "Let me go for you. What shall I bring?"
 
 82 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 "Will you? Oh, just a bun, please; that's all. 
 Thanks awfully!" 
 
 So he brought a box of cakes from a neigh- 
 bouring confectioner's, and she handed it round 
 to the other women, and then came back to offer 
 it again to him. She stood beside him in the 
 wings, eating chocolate eclairs, and discussing 
 the frocks she was to wear in the part. She was 
 pretty enough to be attractive, even while she 
 ate a chocolate eclair.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 WHEN the Wednesday dawned for which the 
 dress-rehearsal was fixed, Oliphant rose in a state 
 of tension which he knew was to continue for 
 thirty-six hours until the curtain fell the follow- 
 ing night on the production. His remembrance 
 of these thirty-six hours was always vague. A 
 salient feature was Mr. Voysey's silk hat at the 
 back of his head, as he stood, on Wednesday 
 morning, doing nothing anxiously in the centre 
 of "Lady Plynlimmon's" hall; the brilliantly- 
 lighted scene, in which he was the solitary figure, 
 and the gloom of the auditorium formed a strik- 
 ing contrast. There was a sprinkling of curious 
 strangers in the stalls. And when the rehearsal 
 began at last, everything went wrong every- 
 thing except the performance of Miss Ellerton. 
 Even Rayne was not so good as the author had 
 expected him to be ; and others did not know their 
 parts; and terrible omissions were discovered 
 which could never be remedied in time. At five 
 o'clock, when Oliphant went back to Burton 
 Crescent, he was bowed with despondence. 
 
 83
 
 84 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 Thursday drew towards dusk tardily. He had 
 strolled about the streets till he was tired, and, 
 still too restless to sit down, he now paced the 
 drawing-room, staring with strained eyes at the 
 darkening enclosure beyond the windows. He 
 thought that he wanted somebody anybody 
 to talk to ; but when Mrs. Tubbs brought in the 
 inevitable tea and toast, her chatter drove him 
 to the verge of frenzy. 
 
 "I suppose you can't help thinking about it, 
 Mr. Elephant," she said, "and being a bit worried 
 like? Well, you're fine and large on the bills, 
 that you are ! Mrs. Johnson she was saying only 
 yesterday you've heard me speak o' Mrs. John- 
 son? the lady as does your washing she was 
 saying only yesterday she never see a strikinger 
 bill in her life; and she's what you may call a 
 reg'lar playgoer, mind yer! Is it a laughable 
 piece?" 
 
 "No," he said huskily; "it isn't meant to be 
 comic. I don't think I want any tea, thank you." 
 
 "Lor, you must eat a bit whatever are you 
 talking about! I suppose if it takes, you'll be 
 making a lot o' money, won't you? I do wonder 
 you ain't acting in it yourself seems so strange. 
 Mrs. Johnson she was asking me which of the 
 parts you took, and when I said you hadn't got 
 nothin' to do with it, she was that surprised!
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 85 
 
 Well, me and her '11 both be there, anyhow; I 
 give her a ticket, and we mean to clap like one 
 o'clock, I can tell yer!" 
 
 "For heaven's sake," he exclaimed agitatedly, 
 "don't go clapping all by yourselves! Don't, 
 I beg you!" The toast choked him, and it was 
 necessary to obtain a respite. "I'll go and dress," 
 he declared. 
 
 "Better 'ad," said Mrs. Tubbs; "Mrs. Johnson 
 she 'as took especial pains with your shirt you'll 
 find it at the top of the parcel. I know the sink- 
 ing you've got, Mr. Elephant 'aving 'ad it my- 
 self. Never shall I forget the night as 'er as is 
 gone left this very 'ouse to make her first appear- 
 ance before the public, with me and 'er uncle 
 a-followin' of her, a mask o' perspiration in the 
 bus ! And the talent o' that gal was astonishin', 
 though little more than showing of 'erself off 
 'ad she got to do. And if it 'adn't been that Mr. 
 Tubbs was the tool of Mr. Billing, it's at the 
 Al'ambra or somewhere she'd 'ave 
 
 The quiet and coolness of the bedroom was 
 refreshing. By maddening degrees another hour 
 crept by. Presently it wasn't ridiculous to con- 
 sider starting for the theatre. He had intended 
 to take a hansom, as befitting the occasion, but 
 suddenly he preferred to walk. He did not mean 
 to go behind the scenes until after the perform'
 
 86 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 ance; to show himself earlier would be only to 
 increase the nervousness of the company. In the 
 Strand he had a liqueur of brandy, and bought 
 a cigar, and consulted his watch, which he had 
 taken out of pawn, a dozen times. 
 
 The crowd outside the pit and gallery was 
 large he wondered with a pang how many 
 orders it might represent. The people surged 
 forward as he speculated on the point, and a 
 flood of light was cast upon the pavement from 
 the centre doors, which opened noisily and dis- 
 played the foyer. The commissionaire who 
 opened them was very tall and fat, and his but- 
 tons shone; Oliphant noticed that. The gleam 
 of the acting-manager's shirt-front, and the blue 
 scarf over the head of an early arrival in a four- 
 wheel cab, also impressed him, like the artificial 
 redness of a bank of roses at the foot of a gilt 
 looking-glass when he entered. There was a tele- 
 gram for him in the box-office, and it slipped 
 from his fingers three times before he mastered 
 it. It ran : "I'm drinking your health. Heartiest 
 wishes for a thundering success to-night Otho." 
 It was sent from Paris. At the top of the stairs 
 he handed it to the programme-girl instead of 
 his ticket, and tried to smile when the mistake 
 was pointed out ; his lips felt very stiff. 
 
 He sat in the dress-circle, and listened to the
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 87 
 
 clatter of feet overhead, as the gallery-patrons 
 stumbled down the wooden steps. After an 
 eternity, when the orchestra appeared, and the 
 first preliminary scrape of a fiddle wrung his 
 heart, he understood the sickness of the soul 
 which so often prevents a dramatist attending 
 the production of his play. Hitherto he had 
 ridiculed it; now he understood. Momentarily 
 he entertained the idea of going away, but a 
 feeling of physical weakness, as muc^ as curi- 
 osity, held him chained. 
 
 The stalls were rapidly filling, and occasionally 
 there was the sharp rattle of rings, as an attend- 
 ant preceded a party into a private box. Mr. 
 Van Putten emerged; he settled his coat-tails. 
 He tapped with the baton, and collected eyes. 
 The orchestra emitted a feeble wail. It grew 
 louder ; it acquired time, and tune ; it culminated 
 in a crash. The author gripped the arms of his 
 chair and the curtain rose. 
 
 The scene glowed before him as it had done 
 yesterday; the women were there and they 
 spoke; so much he knew. Whether they spoke 
 the lines well, or whether they spoke the words 
 that he had written, he did not know in the 
 least. He thought that if the actresses' nervous- 
 ness had equalled his own they would have been 
 tongue-tied; but they had as he had always
 
 88 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 had till now the stimulus of the footlights. . . . 
 Gradually his mind became acuter; he waited 
 for an inflection, and looked for the next "en- 
 trance." It was "Maud's"; God! was Maud 
 late? 
 
 ' 'Maud is here, mother; and very impatient 
 for tea!'" 
 
 Ah! she was on the staircase she came down 
 it slowly, her finger-tips trailing the balustrade. 
 How graceful she was ! How charming a figure, 
 as she smiled across the table! . . . There was 
 a ripple of laughter as "Lady Plynlimmon" let 
 fall an epigram with an air of unconsciousness 
 that gave it twice its point. . . . Rayne look- 
 ing very handsome in "pink" was welcomed en- 
 thusiastically. . . . To find that "Sir Clement" 
 wasn't Sir Clement at all startled the audience 
 as it was meant to do, and an audible stir ran 
 through the theatre. The author's agitation had 
 a throb of enjoyment in it now; yesterday's 
 blunders were avoided the piece was going 
 without a hitch! 
 
 He did not go to smoke in the interval; nor 
 in the next. He sat longing to grip Rayne and 
 everybody else by the hand. He had misjudged 
 Rayne! The whole company was doing valiant 
 work, and the applause had been of the warmest 
 description.
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 89 
 
 The act-drop went up for the third time, and 
 "Maud" and the man who called himself Sir 
 Clement Thurloe were "discovered" on the anni- 
 versary of their wedding-day. Rayne and Miss 
 Ellerton were both excellent here. His hunger 
 for the love of the wife whom he had bought by 
 his fraud, and her own awakening tenderness, 
 were depicted admirably. Soon her dislike of 
 "Mrs. Vaughan" the man's embarrassment 
 when questioned fanned a mistaken fear to 
 jealousy. The girl's voice as she turned to "Lady 
 Plynlimmon" with the cry of "Mother! You 
 made me marry him tell me if it's true I" 
 brought Oliphant's heart into his throat. She 
 was displaying an intensity that astonished even 
 him. For the end of the act the whirlwind 
 of despair he relied on Rayne. But another 
 scene had to come first: the "scene of the two 
 women," when "Maud" declined to receive "Mrs. 
 Vaughan," and the adventuress, in retaliation, 
 flung the truth in her hostess's face and told her 
 that she was the wife of an impostor. The scene 
 came which was to be made or marred by Miss 
 Blanche Ellerton. 
 
 And now she held the house; and Oliphant 
 worshipped her. The girl who had eaten choco- 
 late eclairs, and talked theatrical slang in the 
 wings, bore herself like a queen. Every word
 
 90 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 she uttered, every quiver of the proudly-set 
 lips, struck a chord in his own being. His life 
 seemed a part of her to flutter with her breath. 
 The act the play ended somehow; he thought 
 of no one but her. 
 
 He fancied there was a cry of "Author" when 
 he made his way "behind" after the curtain fell. 
 The artists were all on the stage all with their 
 nerves strung high; the eyes that some of the 
 women turned to him were wet as he stammered 
 his thanks. He loved everybody; the members 
 of the company were his brothers and sisters! 
 Rayne clapped him on the shoulder, and sounded 
 imperative Oliphant didn't understand about 
 what. All he realised vividly was that Blanche 
 EUerton was standing among the group, waiting 
 for him to reach her. He took both her hands 
 and could have fallen at her feet. 
 
 "Oh, God bless you!" he gasped. 
 
 "Was I what you meant?" 
 
 "You were great what can I say? you were 
 great!" 
 
 "For Heaven's sake, man, come!" Rayne 
 wrenched him round; "they want the author 
 take your call!" 
 
 He was dragged before the audience, and made 
 his bow. 
 
 She was there when he came off not queenly
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 91 
 
 any longer, but a girl with paint on her face, and 
 a tear trickling down it. "Good-night," she said. 
 "I think it's a success?" 
 
 "Thanks to you," he muttered. He caught 
 her hands to his mouth, and kissed them violently. 
 "There are no words to tell you how grateful I 
 am no words! Good night, Miss Ellerton." 
 
 It occurred to him afterwards that a diplo- 
 matist would have bestowed his superlative bene- 
 diction on the manager ; but he didn't care 1
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 WHEX Mrs. Tubbs came into his room with 
 the bundle of newspapers that he had ordered 
 overnight, Oliphant sat up in bed and grabbed 
 them; and the more he read the blanker grew 
 his dismay. Not one of the Press opinions of 
 The Impostor was wholly favourable, and the 
 maj ority were decidedly the reverse. The actors 
 and actresses, of course, were complimented, 
 especially Miss Ellerton The Daily Telegraph 
 was reminded of Aimee Desclee but the dra- 
 matic critics were not so diffident of disparaging 
 the author; and after breakfast, when the eve- 
 ning papers were published, one of the notices 
 was headed, "CLAUDE MELNOTTE IN A CHIMNEY- 
 POT HAT." 
 
 The author walked down to the Dominion in 
 the morning, because he felt that it would be 
 cowardly to stay away; and he had a brief, 
 dejected chat with Rayne in the office. To go 
 to the theatre at night, however, and see the 
 company flat, and the house three-parts empty, 
 
 92
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 93 
 
 was beyond him. He wondered if Miss Ellerton 
 was sympathising with him in his failure. She 
 could afford to do so; The Impostor had at any 
 rate been a triumph for her. He would go 
 to-morrow! He fancied what she would say 
 and what he would answer, and foresaw her reply 
 to that. He found that he was looking forward 
 to their conversation very eagerly. 
 
 But it was not quite so charming as he had 
 expected. She said that "the bad notices of the 
 piece were an awful shame," but he could not 
 avoid perceiving that her mind was chiefly occu- 
 pied by the good notices of herself. The con- 
 versation approached his imaginary picture more 
 closely when he congratulated her on her success ; 
 then she was again animated. He was relieved 
 to hear that the audience was not so scanty as 
 he had feared it would be; and when the acting- 
 manager came round with the returns Rayne 
 perked up, and spoke hopefully of "pulling the 
 thing together yet." 
 
 It was his first play; the atmosphere of a 
 theatre had grown essential to him; and man 
 knows no wilder adoration than a dramatist may 
 feel for the actress who realises his heroine the 
 Dominion drew Royce Oliphant like a loadstone. 
 He watched Blanche Ellerton from the wings 
 while she was on the stage, and talked to her
 
 9* THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 in the wings when she came off, and found the 
 wings a void when she was in her dressing-room. 
 The not uncommon delusion that to obtain 
 disenchantment it is only needful to view the 
 make-up on an actress's face at close quarters, 
 is the reverse of the truth instead of a fact. 
 She is probably far better-looking so there in 
 that light than she is by nature and the con- 
 sciousness that she is made up, moreover, is by 
 no means active in the spectator's mind. At the 
 rehearsals Miss Ellerton had been a pretty girl; 
 here she was a beautiful woman. Very soon, 
 indeed, Oliphant came to remember her as she 
 was here and altogether forgot the comparatively 
 insipid face which belonged to her by rights. It 
 was a little shock to him the first time he saw 
 her again in her own person they had met in 
 Oxford Street. But for the glamour of her 
 identity, which nothing could destroy the 
 knowledge that she was the girl who inside the 
 theatre affected him so powerfully he would 
 have felt the meeting sad. 
 
 None the less he was delighted a few evenings 
 later when she mentioned that her home was at 
 Earl's Court and it was understood that he was 
 to call there some afternoon. 
 
 He went the following Sunday he would 
 have gone before but for the dread of showing
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 95 
 
 himself impatient. The house that sheltered the 
 goddess when he reached it was not imposing; 
 but as he waited in the little drawing-room, with 
 its dyed grasses, and photographs of Blanche 
 Ellerton on the mantelpiece, he smoothed his hair 
 a trifle nervously. 
 
 She came in to him a moment afterwards, and 
 they exchanged preliminary platitudes. She was 
 followed by her parents, and a sallow, unattrac- 
 tive girl of about twenty, with high shoulders 
 and a flat chest, who, he learnt with surprise, 
 was her sister. There was tea, and, on his part 
 at least, uneasiness. 
 
 Mrs. Ellerton was a thin, simple-looking 
 woman, prematurely grey. Her destiny was 
 to write novelettes to order. Novelettes that 
 filled a couple of pages longer novelettes issued 
 at a halfpenny, between blue, pink, and green 
 wrappers novelettes that were "To be con- 
 tinued in our next," all came alike to her pen. 
 She took pleasure in the work, and was ashamed 
 to be pleased by it, for she was keenly sensitive 
 to ridicule. She was consoled by remembering 
 that the money she obtained was indispensable. 
 Blanche had earned a little as a child-actress 
 before she was eleven, but the five pounds a 
 week she was drawing from the Dominion was 
 the highest salary to which she had attained,
 
 96 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 and there were many months in which she earned 
 nothing at all. 
 
 The head of the family the husband of the 
 lady novelettist was James Ellerton; he fre- 
 quently reminded her of it in fact, it was his 
 misfortune that he could never forget it himself. 
 He had formerly been a provincial actor a call- 
 ing he loathed and as a provincial actor he 
 might have contributed towards the household 
 expenses to-day. Unhappily, some ten years 
 since, he had written a very clever novel, which 
 evoked most excellent reviews, and of which the 
 publishers sold the fewest possible number of 
 copies. For a writer who had been likened to 
 Balzac and he was to continue to make a fool 
 of himself on third-rate theatrical tours, or to 
 say, "The dinner is served, madam," in London, 
 he had felt to be incongruous. James Ellerton, 
 in the Saturday Review, was "a distinguished 
 novelist"; James Ellerton, in the theatre, was a 
 nonentity to be snubbed and bullied. His suc- 
 cess in literature gained him no jot of considera- 
 tion from stage-managers and dramatic-agents 
 as the adaptation of a French melodrama would 
 have done for the simple reason that none of 
 them knew anything whatever about it. He had, 
 therefore, retired from the theatrical profession; 
 and at very lengthy intervals produced two
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 97 
 
 further novels, which were reviewed highly also, 
 and much admired by the reviewers. Few 
 other persons had heard of them. He was sup- 
 ported, fitfully by the exertions of his elder 
 daughter, and for the most part by his wife's 
 novelettes, whose literary quality caused him 
 acute disgust. She mentioned them in his pres- 
 ence deprecatingly. 
 
 "It's so nice to see you, Mr. Oliphant," she 
 said. "We were all in front the first night, of 
 course. I do hope it will go on! Do you think 
 it will?" 
 
 "I think that Miss Ellerton's performance 
 alone ought to be enough to draw all London," 
 he said. 
 
 "Oh, how lovely of you to say so! She's 
 worked so hard, Blanche has; and she's never 
 had what I call a 'real chance' till now. But 
 the drama is so good in itself! I'm sure it ought 
 to run. Mr. Ellerton thought highly of it; didn't 
 you, James?" 
 
 Mr. Ellerton had been considering as he 
 always did consider on being introduced to any- 
 one how to intimate that he was "a distin- 
 guished novelist"; and he was grateful to her 
 for making the opportunity. It would have been 
 beneath his dignity to let her see it, however; 
 the fiction of his importance the importance of
 
 98 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 his fiction was maintained on the domestic 
 hearth. 
 
 "The literary quality of the dialogue," he said 
 impressively, "of course appealed to me. There 
 are lines that I would have written myself." 
 
 "I'm glad you liked it," said Oliphant; "yes." 
 He saw that the others were of the opinion that 
 the elderly gentleman had paid him a great com- 
 pliment, and was a little puzzled. The father 
 wrote, then? that was why he wore a brown 
 velvet jacket. 
 
 "Papa doesn't often praise a piece, I can tell 
 you !" said Blanche. "He's so fiendishly critical. 
 You know his books?" 
 
 "I I know the books in a sense," murmured 
 Oliphant. "I'm ashamed to say I haven't read 
 them." 
 
 "There are some millions," said Mr. Ellerton 
 with a fine smile, "in the same position." He 
 always said this, and said it rather well. "I 
 am not er popular, Mr. Oliphant I won't 
 say 'successful,' for, as a detail, my novels obtain 
 their er columns of eulogy in all the impor- 
 tant papers." He waved the papers aside. "I 
 have never consented to cheapen my style from 
 commercial motives. It may be a weakness. I 
 may be wrong." 
 
 "I think it's the reverse," declared Oliphant;
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 99 
 
 "very much the reverse. To know he can afford 
 to do his best work must be a literary man's 
 greatest joy." 
 
 Mr. Ellerton bent his head, and smiled again 
 ineffably. 
 
 "It is" he said. 
 
 "Oh, we're a very brilliant family," laughed 
 the actress; "you've no idea!" 
 
 "Do you write as well, Mrs. Ellerton?" 
 
 "Oh, only a little," she faltered; "my writing 
 is My husband is the author. I write for 
 papers; I've no time to think about a book." 
 
 "You write more than a 'little' then?" 
 
 "Well, they keep me busy," she confessed 
 nervously; "don't they, James? Did I tell you 
 that there's a note from Mr. Trussell asking for 
 a ten-thousand-word story as soon as I can let 
 him have it?" 
 
 "How long does a story like that take to do?" 
 Oliphant inquired. 
 
 Under the influence of polite interest an in- 
 fluence to which she was so unaccustomed the 
 simple woman grew expansive. "Oh, not very 
 long, if I keep at it; and I do when I've begun! 
 Of course my tales aren't aren't what is the 
 word, James?" 
 
 ' 'Serious,' " said the authority carelessly. 
 
 "Yes, aren't 'serious,' " she continued, win-
 
 100 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 cing "in a literary sense my husband means. 
 They're they're written to suit the class of 
 papers that want me; but they take hold of me 
 while I'm doing them; and I don't like to put 
 them down." 
 
 "I can understand the fascination very well," 
 answered the young man. "To keep seeing one- 
 self in print, too, must be jolly!" 
 
 "The characters seem quite real to me," she 
 said, "and and it's exciting when one gets them 
 into some dreadful trouble, and doesn't quite 
 know how they're going to get out of it. One 
 doesn't worry, you know ! There are nights when 
 I can't sleep because I keep asking myself how 
 the heroine's going to be saved, and She 
 
 saw her husband's expression, and changed colour 
 pathetically. "But it's absurd to talk about my 
 writing in front of Mr. Ellerton! I only play 
 at it." 
 
 "My wife's work has er has its merits," 
 admitted the introspective novelist whom it kept. 
 "It really isn't so bad as some of the stuff these 
 papers trade in; I hope to see both her and 
 Blanche advance considerably. And if you 
 persevere, Mr. Oliphant I think there's some- 
 body else I shall have to congratulate one of 
 these days!" 
 
 "It won't be on my plays," said Oliphant
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 101 
 
 shortly; "I'm an actor." He was sorry to be 
 conscious that he felt the visit was proving very 
 dull. 
 
 All this time the girl in the background had 
 said nothing except "How do you do?" but sat 
 regarding Oliphant with hungry eyes. Though 
 she was accustomed to men ignoring her, she 
 yearned to be noticed by them, and she had 
 always a passionate hope that the last one intro- 
 duced would be the exception to the rule. The 
 attention secured by her sister's brightness, her 
 father's self-assertion, even by her mother's small 
 talk, accentuated the force of her secret mortifi- 
 cation. Life contained for her but one brief 
 excitement. It was when she stood up in com- 
 pany and played, in an amateurish, untrained 
 way, some simple air on her violin, trembling to 
 know that now, at least, men looked at her. At 
 these moments there was, in the breast of the 
 semi-deformed girl, the tumult of triumph and 
 despair that belongs to a Paganini. But her skill 
 was of the slightest, and nobody suspected, as 
 she scraped "The Last Rose of Summer," that 
 she felt much more than a mechanical toy. 
 
 "Gertrude," said Mrs. Ellerton now, with a 
 glance in her direction, "came home from the 
 Dominion hysterical. How she cried there! So 
 did I I always do but Gertrude sobbed."
 
 103 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 "Did you, Miss Ellerton?'' 
 
 She turned sick with the intensity of her desire 
 to say something "good" something that should 
 stimulate his interest. She clasped her hands in 
 her lap with an unspoken prayer. 
 
 "Yes," she said huskily, her face suffused with 
 an unbecoming blush. 
 
 "I wish it had been your business to write 
 some of the notices. You'd have dealt more 
 kindly with me." 
 
 "Yes," she said. 
 
 "The receipts are going up a little every eve- 
 ning, though, lately; perhaps it may turn out 
 well after all it's possible. One can't say." 
 
 "No," she said. 
 
 "I wonder how much money Rayne has got?" 
 exclaimed the leading lady; "do you think he can 
 afford to wait till it works up into a draw? But 
 I oughtn't to ask you that." 
 
 "As a matter of fact I don't know," Oliphant 
 answered. 
 
 "He ought to advertise it more. There are 
 no advertisements none to speak of. And oh, 
 these managers, these managers!" 
 
 "What were you going to say?" 
 
 "Well, the advertisements he does put in 
 look at all the lines from the notices that he 
 quotes! They're not the best, they're not the
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 103 
 
 finest by any means: because the best notices 
 were got by me, and he doesn't want to advertise 
 anybody but himself. 'Herbert Rayne's Latest 
 Success!' And what of the author of the piece, 
 and poor Blanche Ellerton?" 
 
 "I'm afraid the author of the piece can't lay 
 claim to many good notices," he laughed. 
 
 Her mother despatched a warning glance. 
 "Blanche is so frank, Mr. Oliphant," she mur- 
 mured; "she says too much sometimes." 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Oliphant won't tell tales out of 
 school, I know! Have I been indiscreet, Mr. 
 Oliphant?" She smiled bewitchingly. 
 
 "Why, I thought we were friends?" he said. 
 
 "I feel perfectly safe in Mr. Oliphant 's hands 
 I'm not alarmed! But isn't it so? The lines 
 that would tell go into the waste-paper basket. 
 You know what the critics said of me ! Did you 
 see The World? Oh, did you see The World? 
 I must show it you! Where is it, mother?" 
 
 "Yes, I saw it," he said; "I brought you the 
 cutting, if you remember." 
 
 "Oh, so you did so kind of you! Well" 
 her gesture was perhaps a little unrestrained for 
 a room "these things aren't advertised, and 
 there ought to be half a column of them in all 
 the papers! I've suffered in the same way all 
 through my career. They won't, they won't let
 
 104. THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 you get a better adjective than themselves the 
 vanity of a management is simply appalling !" 
 
 "Z have never written for the theatre on that 
 account," observed the novelist; "I wouldn't do 
 it. I would not consent to stultify my intention 
 because an actor-manager demanded that he 
 should be in the centre of the stage when he ought 
 to be in his dressing-room. I always say one 
 thing; I say: 'Come to me when you can forget 
 that you are managing this house for your own 
 glorification and then I'll write you a play. 
 In the meanwhile, my dear sir, no! You don't 
 suit me, and I shouldn't suit you." They may 
 be offended; but I say what I mean." 
 
 "My husband won't give in," boasted Mrs. 
 Ellerton feebly. "He'll never give in." 
 
 "No! Those are my principles, and I shall 
 keep true to them. Possibly" he lifted his eye- 
 brows and his shoulders "possibly I may be 
 unwise!" The doubt troubled him less because 
 he had never been asked for a play in his life. 
 
 "I know something of the difficulties of the 
 profession, naturally," said Oliphant, addressing 
 himself to the actress ; "but surely you have noth- 
 ing to be dejected about? You've done wonders." 
 
 "Oh," she sighed, "if you knew what I've had 
 to contend with in my career the obstacles that 
 would have crushed an ordinary girl! I daresay
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 105 
 
 I shall take things more lightly in ten years' 
 time; I suppose a woman does take them more 
 lightly than a young girl" her tone suggested 
 that she was sixteen "but, do you know, I 
 simply writhe to-day at an injustice! Shall I 
 ever forget when I went to New York with Mrs. 
 Sweet-Esmond? She got me for twelve pounds 
 a week, between ourselves I accepted the offer, 
 as I accepted these ridiculous terms at the 
 Dominion, because the engagement meant an 
 opportunity and then she simply hated me be- 
 cause I rehearsed the part well. 'Miss Ellerton,' 
 she said, '/ have come to New York to make the 
 success not you!' Cat ! I think that tour with 
 Mrs. Sweet-Esmond did more to to destroy 
 my childish trustfulness than anything in my 
 career." 
 
 He caught himself wishing that she would be 
 satisfied to call it her "life" occasionally, but he 
 sympathised with her nevertheless. 
 
 If her conversation had been phonographed 
 and reproduced in his hearing without the play 
 of her eyes, and the magic that her presence 
 exercised upon him now, he would have judged 
 it as fairly as anybody else. Had he gone to the 
 house as the friend of another man who admired 
 her, he would have judged it fairly too; and if 
 he had been a fool he would have attempted
 
 106 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 to convince the other man when they left that, 
 apart from the inexplicable histrionic gift, there 
 was "nothing in her." As it was, the blemishes 
 which he could not overlook were only spots on 
 the sun. They did distress him on his way home, 
 but for the veriest instant. He even persuaded 
 himself that they had a charm, because they im- 
 plied a glimpse of the girl's real self the thing 
 which every man honestly in love, every man not 
 a sybarite in the emotions, constantly tempts her 
 to expose, instead of assisting her to veil. The 
 man honestly in love is the eternal justification 
 of the parable concerning the goose with the 
 golden eggs. In truth, the longer the girl takes 
 to become "real" to his sight, the longer his 
 homage will last, though she may be able to dis- 
 play as many virtues as eyelashes; for nearly 
 every educated man is unconsciously an idealist 
 in relation to the opposite sex, and rarely falls 
 in love with a girl at all, but with a character 
 quite different which her face suggests to him. 
 That there are contented husbands is less a testi- 
 monial to men's wisdom than to women's adapta- 
 bility and tact. "Familiarity breeds contempt" 
 was a man's adage; as a reflection on feminine 
 character it is a lie. Women are idealists too, 
 but they idealise their possessors; men idealise 
 only what they seek to possess. The longer the
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 107 
 
 average woman lives with a man, assuming he 
 is not a brute and often when he is the fonder 
 of him she becomes ; and on their silver-wedding 
 she can kiss his hand if his finger-nails are dirty. 
 But it is a severe chill to the average man's 
 adoration the first time the woman he worships 
 has a cold in the head. Royce Oliphant, however, 
 was wooing severer chills. 
 
 It was seven o'clock when he reached home, 
 and Mrs. Tubbs, whom he met on the stairs, 
 informed him that at about four o'clock a boy 
 had brought a note for him. Oliphant opened 
 it hastily, and read the pencilled message with 
 astonishment. It was from Mr. Voysey, and 
 stated that Rayne had been thrown from a cab, 
 and rather seriously hurt. Would Oliphant play 
 "Clement" the following evening? Voysey 
 would be at the Eccentric Club till eleven, and 
 must know to-night. 
 
 He did not hesitate a second. To appear in 
 the piece himself would no longer imperil its 
 prospects, and now he would be able to show 
 what he could do in a leading part. His chance 
 had come. But this was not his paramount con- 
 sciousness as he caught his breath. The thought 
 that intoxicated him was that he was required 
 to make passionate love to Blanche Ellerton. 
 
 Of course Rayne had an understudy a novice
 
 108 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 who was filling a minor role, and receiving two 
 pounds a week; and of course the aggrieved 
 understudy was almost the only person in the 
 theatre who was surprised that he wasn't called 
 upon to play the part now occasion arose. The 
 understudy is frequently given cause for such 
 surprise. But to substitute his unknown name 
 for a favourite's if it can be avoided would be 
 folly. If The Impostor had been a success, Oli- 
 phant would not have been thought of either. 
 The receipts, however, did not warrant another 
 forty pounds being added to the salary list, and 
 the actor-author was chosen as a compromise 
 between a man with a reputation and the indig- 
 nant tyro who had been praying that Rayne 
 might be taken ill ever since the dress-rehearsal. 
 
 Oliphant left the Eccentric Club with the part 
 in his pocket, and walked about among the blue 
 rep furniture of the Burton Crescent drawing- 
 room, studying, till four in the morning. He 
 really knew the lines almost as well as Rayne 
 himself, and his chief anxiety was the "business." 
 He was now painfully alive to the importance of 
 his opportunity, and when he permitted himself 
 to realise that he was on the eve of appearing as 
 leading man in London he shook. 
 
 Mr. Voysey had written to all the principals 
 whose addresses he remembered, and early next
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 109 
 
 day telegrams were despatched to the rest. At 
 one o'clock Royce went through his scenes with 
 them nobody doing more than murmur the 
 words and then clothes had to be decided on, 
 and a visit made to Shaftesbury Avenue to 
 remedy defects; and his hair had to be trimmed, 
 and some dress-ties bought, and a moustache 
 selected; and dinner had to be swallowed with 
 the part propped against the cruet and shoes 
 had to be varnished, and his make-up box ex- 
 amined, and a portmanteau packed; and after 
 that he had to stretch himself on the sofa and 
 try to sleep, tortured by the thought that some 
 ghastly oversight would paralyse him when it 
 was too late. 
 
 When Edmund Kean walked into Drury Lane 
 Theatre "with Shylock's costume in a bundle on 
 his arm," he found it necessary to dress among 
 the supernumeraries; when Royce Oliphant 
 arrived at the Dominion, he was given the star 
 room, and Rayne's dresser, and all the appur- 
 tenances of a position that he hadn't won. On 
 the whole he thought he would rather have been 
 without them, though he appreciated the blessing 
 of a room to himself; he felt that if he made a 
 failure, he would look doubly foolish for the 
 grandeur. He was made up and dressed half 
 an hour before his first entrance, and lay back
 
 110 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 in an armchair beside the mirror, listening to the 
 vague sounds from the passages and stage that 
 crept through his nerves. A first performance 
 in a company that are already at home in their 
 parts is a far greater ordeal to an actor than a 
 first night. At a first night the nervousness is 
 general, and the artists do not criticise one an- 
 other; but when one actor alone is new to the 
 piece, his nervousness is quadrupled by his fear 
 of his companions' opinions. 
 
 "Curtain's up, sir!" remarked the dresser, 
 returning with a box of cigarettes. 
 
 "Thank you," said Oliphant; "how long have 
 I got now?" 
 
 "About twelve minutes it's just on a quarter 
 to nine when Mr. Rayne's called. Will you want 
 anything after the first hact, sir?" 
 
 "Yes, you might get me a small bottle of 
 stout. But for heaven's sake don't be late for 
 my change!" 
 
 He lit a cigarette, and waited for the call-boy's 
 summons. . . . 
 
 " 'Clement!' Mr. Rayne, sir!" 
 
 The wings seemed brighter and hotter than 
 usual this evening; the glances that he caught 
 looked anxious. He had still nearly two minutes. 
 He walked round to the door in the canvas 
 "flat" that he was to open, and stood listening
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 111 
 
 intently. What was the prompter hanging about 
 for? he knew what the cue was well enough I 
 "Lady Plynlimmon's" voice thrilled him she 
 ought to get a laugh here. . . . Yes, it camel 
 A line from "Maud," and it would be the instant 
 for him to burst into speech and enter. "My 
 God," he said, "help me!" The cue fell; and he 
 turned the handle.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 A FURTHER contrast to the Edmund Kean 
 night was the fact that it wasn't "marvellous so 
 few of them could kick up such a row," but the 
 applause was hearty notwithstanding, and Oli- 
 phant left the theatre a happy man. He had 
 succeeded ; he knew it ; and the cordial congratu- 
 lations of the company buzzed in his ears. Natu- 
 rally the success lacked the splendour it would 
 have had on the night of the production, before 
 rows of Press men; still it effected a great deal. 
 The Stage gave him a glowing paragraph in the 
 next issue; The Era was equally generous on 
 Saturday; and The Referee sweetened his Sun- 
 day bloater by its hope that the managers would 
 take care Mr. Royce Oliphant did not return 
 to the provinces in a hurry he had been hidden 
 there too long. 
 
 These things mean that many people drop into 
 the theatre who would not go otherwise; though, 
 as the majority of them gain admission by the 
 presentation of their cards, their attendance is 
 of less value to the box-office than to the artist 
 
 112
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 118 
 
 they come to see. The dramatic-agents, for 
 instance, went to the Dominion; and those on 
 whose books Mr. Royce Oliphant's name was 
 not registered were loudest in advising him to 
 put his trust in them. Two offers of "leading 
 business" were made to him speedily; but one 
 was for a spring tour, and the other was to sup- 
 port an actress who was going to "star" in 
 America; and he held fast to his resolution to 
 remain in town. It looked as if he should be able 
 to do so nowl At any rate he had obtained a 
 hearing, and he had been very fortunate. 
 
 He had, indeed, been more fortunate than he 
 quite realised, for not only had the opportunity 
 not come too late, but what was nearly as im- 
 portant it had not come too soon. Though he 
 had much to master still, he had now gained the 
 experience without which his talent could have 
 made little or no impression. He had conquered 
 the hardest of all histrionic tasks : he had learned 
 to convey emotion as well as to feel it. Many 
 other things he had had to learn : things unteach- 
 able, and things that he might have been taught 
 with ease but which he had picked up with diffi- 
 culty. The actor is taught nothing. When he 
 blunders at rehearsal, the stage-manager tells 
 him to "do it the other way," and he obeys ; and 
 in a different situation the "other way" may be
 
 114 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 a clumsy way. If he is astute and assiduous, and 
 an enthusiast, he may, by acquiring one wrinkle 
 from the part he plays in January, and another 
 from the next, which he plays in June, know very 
 nearly as much in five years of the "tricks" of 
 the stage, as they are foolishly termed, as he 
 could have been shown at a Conservatoire in 
 three weeks. He has attained by this time quali- 
 ties which no Conservatoire could have conferred, 
 but he is like an author beginning to make effects 
 with a language while he is still ignorant of its 
 grammar. 
 
 However, Oliphant had profited more than 
 most young men by the seven years that he had 
 served for his Ideal, and such excellent accounts 
 of his performance reached Herbert Rayne that 
 the invalid suffered a twinge of professional 
 jealousy. Royce himself was radiant. Miss 
 Ellerton filled his thoughts Miss Ellerton more 
 than ever confused with her assumption of 
 "Lady Maud Elstree" and elation and love 
 rendered these days the most delicious that he 
 had known in his life. 
 
 When he had been playing "Clement" rather 
 more than a week, he congratulated her one eve- 
 ning, during their first conversation. 
 
 "What about?" she inquired, opening sur- 
 prised blue eyes.
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 115 
 
 "I'm told that Rayne will be able to come back 
 very soon." He laughed. "You'll have some- 
 body to act up to you again!" 
 
 "M-mm!" she said. 
 
 "You know you're relieved to hear it?" 
 
 "Ami?" 
 
 "Well, aren't you truth?" 
 
 "What do you want to know for?" 
 
 "Because I'm so conceited; I want to be 
 praised." 
 
 "Well go and read your notices!" 
 
 "I could recite them to you. Tell me; aren't 
 you glad Rayne is coming back?" 
 
 "Look out," she exclaimed, starting forward; 
 "there's my cue!" 
 
 He moved to the prompt-entrance, and 
 watched her a different woman in an instant, 
 with dignity in her bearing and sorrow in her 
 face. Familiar as he was with the environment, 
 he was momentarily sensible of the strangeness 
 of the thing. When they were both in the wings 
 again it was after the act-drop had fallen, and 
 she was hurrying towards her dressing-room 
 she flashed a glance over her shoulder and threw 
 him her answer: 
 
 "No I'm sorry!" she said, with a smile that 
 blinded him. He would have overtaken her, 
 though she ran swiftly, but staggering scene-
 
 116 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 shifters intervened, and the walls of "Lady 
 Plynlimmon's" dismembered mansion blocked 
 his way. Behind the footlights all was chaos 
 now, and there was his own change of costume 
 to be made. The dresser said : "It's a good 'ouse 
 to-night, ain't it, Mr. Holiphant?" but he scarcely 
 heard the question, nor the depressed addendum 
 that "No doubt a deal of it was piper!" He was 
 engrossed by the knowledge that she would be 
 "sorry," and that he would be sorry sorrier even 
 than he had understood. 
 
 But when he attempted to tell her so, she 
 declined to be sentimental, and he returned to 
 the dresser's ministrations sadly. 
 
 There was a card stuck in the looking-glass 
 now, and he saw with surprise that the name 
 on it was Otho Fairbairn. At the back was 
 scribbled: "I'm in the stalls, and want to come 
 round afterwards." 
 
 "Tucker," he said. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Tell the doorkeeper that when Mr. Fairbairn 
 asks for me, he is to come in, please." 
 
 Oliphant was in his vest and trousers, remov- 
 ing his make-up, when Mr. Fairbairn was con- 
 ducted to the room. 
 
 "Don't shake hands with me I'm all vase-
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 117 
 
 line," said Oliphant. "How are you, old man? 
 When did you come back?" 
 
 "My dear fellow," cried Fairbairn, beaming, 
 "you're perfectly 'immense'! I do congratulate 
 you, upon my word! I didn't dream you had 
 it in you. I say, you are going it, with your own 
 piece, too! What did they cut it up for? I 
 think it's very good. Well, how are you, eh?" 
 
 "I'm all right," said Oliphant; "awfully glad 
 to see you again. Sit down somewhere Tucker, 
 clear a chair, will you? Have you come from 
 Paris?" 
 
 "Yes; I was going to Cairo, but I don't think 
 I shall. You've got to come and have supper 
 with me at the club ; I want to hear all the news, 
 don't you know. Don't say you aren't free!" 
 
 His evident pleasure at the meeting would 
 have been infectious even if the sight of his fair 
 boyish face had not been agreeable to Oliphant 
 always. He still looked so rosily, peacefully 
 young; and his affectations were so innocent, 
 because he was deceived by them himself. Per- 
 haps because he was conscious of the weakness 
 of his character, he was perpetually adopting a 
 new one for an hour or a season. A year or 
 two before, the Turf had been the only thing 
 worth living for he avowed the opinion frankly, 
 and gloried in it; but six months later he was
 
 118 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 attempting to demonstrate to his associates the 
 hollowness of their pursuits and talking earnestly 
 of the responsibilities of wealth, and the beauty 
 of a self-sacrificing life in the East End. The 
 phase lasted the entire autumn, and was suc- 
 ceeded by an interval of Schopenhauer-worship, 
 in which he expressed his preference for solitude, 
 with a pipe and his bookshelves, in such perfervid 
 terms as to offend several of his dearest friends. 
 Allusions to the latest character that he had re- 
 signed were received by him with disapproval; 
 and the still eligible women whom he took down 
 to dinner once in six months were frequently em- 
 barrassed by their doubt whether to approach 
 him on the subject of Theosophy or golf. 
 
 One of the truest sentiments that he had 
 uttered sprang to his girlish lips when he and 
 Oliphant had supped, and, having lighted cigars, 
 lolled opposite each other before a fire. 
 
 "I do envy your having an aim in life!" he 
 exclaimed. 
 
 "Yes ; it's a very good thing if your aim is true. 
 It means a big disappointment if it isn't," said 
 Oliphant, rather startled. 
 
 "It's a good thing anyhow, Royce. The secret 
 of enjoyment is Endeavour and Purpose. Look 
 at me what am I? I'm miserable. I'll take 
 my oath I'd change with a happy mechanic."
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 119 
 
 "Rot!" said Oliphant. "This is new, isn't it? 
 You've always struck me as appreciating your 
 advantages very thoroughly." 
 
 "What I want," said Fairbairn, emitting 
 circlets of smoke and contemplating them, "is 
 love, Royce. Believe me, everything else is a 
 bubble. The happiest man isn't the wealthy man, 
 or the famous man, but the man who has the love 
 of a good woman. There's no blessing so great." 
 
 "No," said the lover; "no; there I'm with you." 
 
 "Mais cherchez la femme! Oof's a big draw- 
 back, old man. I never get a woman who cares 
 for me; other chaps do! I want a big passion, 
 Oliphant ; I want a woman to renounce the world 
 or something for me. I suppose there are women 
 who renounce things for fellows? But damned 
 if I see 'em! There are plenty to pretend, if I 
 like to pay for the amusement some want 
 jewellery, and some want settlements but I 
 don't get near the middle lot who would love me 
 if I were a Government clerk." 
 
 "Why don't you read for the Bar, or do some- 
 thing like that?" said Oliphant. "And you used 
 to write; have you quite given that up?" 
 
 Fairbairn nodded. "Let's have a whisky-and- 
 soda!" he said. "Yes; I get nothing but disillu- 
 sions. I see a girl beautiful girl; good family, 
 nice figure, not a point to find fault with. Well,
 
 120 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 perhaps I think I'd like to make that girl my 
 wife. But she wants to marry me. How can a 
 fellow fall in love with a girl who wants to marry 
 him? I was at the Opera Ball the night before 
 I left- 
 
 "You didn't see her there, did you?" 
 "Don't chaff, old man I feel very deeply on 
 the subject; I do, really. I say I was at the 
 Opera Ball the other night, and I saw another 
 girl well, she'd the face of a goddess, a face to 
 die for ! I can't tell you how intensely she affected 
 me as I watched her. She was standing alone; 
 but I didn't go over to her, because I knew that 
 to hear her speak would be disenchantment. It 
 struck me that that was typical of everything in 
 my life, Oliphant! Is this the Scotch, waiter? 
 Yes, the Scotch for me. I wrote some verses 
 when I got back to the hotel. 'Don't take off 
 
 your mask ' No! What is it? I forget the 
 
 beginning. . . , One of them goes like this 
 
 "Do not speak, I pray, ma mignonne, 
 For 'Things are not what they seem', 
 And I know your voice would surely 
 Dissipate my drunken dream. 
 Muse a moment mutely so, dear, 
 With your cheek upon your hand, 
 While I worship what you are not 
 What you would not understand!"
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 121 
 
 "It's very pretty," said Oliphant. 
 
 "I wish I could remember the rest," said 
 Fairbairn more cheerfully; "I think the sadness 
 
 underlying the cynicism is rather Eh? Oh, 
 
 everything's a sell! The world's grown too old 
 to be lively how our sons will amuse themselves 
 Heaven alone knows ! Paris is a sell where are 
 the grisettes and the romance ? When you expect 
 the descriptions you've always received to be 
 realised, they say, 'Ah, that used to be !' It never 
 was in my time, though. And in New York, 
 when you want to see the things you've heard of 
 all your life, they say, 'Ah, that was once!' It 
 seems to me you and I were born too late. I was 
 at Brighton last season I believe the most 
 beautiful women in Europe were to be found at 
 Brighton during the season 'once/ I said I 
 should like to see one or two of them this time. 
 'Ah, people don't come here as they did!' 7'm 
 trying to find the place that exists to-day. But 
 if I give Cairo a chance I know it'll be a fraud, 
 and when I complain I shall be told, 'Ah, you're 
 talking of twenty years ago!' ' 
 
 "Is that why you are here?" 
 
 "Well, I should have seen your piece, anyhow; 
 I meant to stay in town a night on purpose. I 
 say, that girl who plays 'Maud,' Miss what's
 
 122 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 her name? is good-looking. She's a clever 
 actress, too." 
 
 "Miss Ellerton," said the actor, gazing at the 
 fire. 
 
 "Yes, 'Ellerton/ that's it! Is she er " 
 
 "She's a very fine actress indeed, and a lady; 
 and and her father's a literary man," broke in 
 Oliphant hurriedly. "A charming family alto- 
 gether." 
 
 "I suppose you meet everybody now, eh all 
 the celebrities? It must be a change from the 
 provinces, by Jove! You'll go to the top of the 
 tree with a rush, I expect. Well, you deserve 
 it!" 
 
 ' 'Go to the top with a rush' what are you 
 talking about? I'm likelier to be 'up a tree' than 
 at the top of it ; there are more difficulties in the 
 way than you imagine." 
 
 "Oh, bosh!" said the other, with the easy assur- 
 ance of the friend who knows nothing of the 
 matter; "you're always so doubtful of yourself. 
 You're miles ahead of half the best men in Lon- 
 don. You don't appear to be acting, that's what 
 fetched me. Why don't you take a theatre?" 
 
 "Why don't I what?" said Oliphant, staring. 
 
 "Why don't you take a theatre?" repeated 
 Fairbairn in the tone in which he might have
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 123 
 
 said, "Why don't you take a cab?" "It's the 
 thing to do, isn't it? I'll go in with you." 
 
 "My dear fellow, do you regard me as the 
 most conceited man of your acquaintance? It's 
 very kind of you to suggest such a thing; but I 
 shouldn't draw twopence, and I know it." 
 
 "You're a damned fool," said his host casually. 
 "The men who get on are the chaps who don't 
 know what modesty means. 'You must stir it, 
 and stump it, and blow your own trumpet, or 
 trust me you haven't a chance.' Wouldn't you 
 like to have your own theatre, and play Hamlet? 
 You used to talk enough about it, I remember. 
 Bored us to death!" 
 
 "Ah," murmured Royce, "that's another ques- 
 tion! Would I 'like it'? Oh yes, I'd 'like it.' 
 I'd like to play Hamlet, and I'd like to have my 
 own theatre. Both. Either. Whether I shall 
 ever realise the dream or half the dream only 
 the good gods know. Hamlet! in London! 
 . . ." He shook himself and laughed. "Oh, 
 man, why send me home dissatisfied? I was 
 rather puffed up by my present advance when 
 I came." 
 
 "But I'm perfectly serious!" protested Fair- 
 bairn. "If you'd like to have a shot at a theatre, 
 I'll go in with you. I won't make you any 
 presents you needn't be afraid of that. We'll
 
 124 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 do it on commercial lines. We'll find out the 
 square thing, and 
 
 Oliphant extended his hand, with a flush on his 
 face. "You're a trump, Otho!" he exclaimed: 
 "you're a friend in a million! The idea is pre- 
 posterous, I assure you. It's it's years too 
 soon; one takes a theatre when one has a follow- 
 ing. But well, you're a pal !" 
 
 He did not make his way towards home "dis- 
 satisfied," nevertheless. The proposal, wild as 
 it was, had excited him temporarily; and with 
 the effervescence of fancy, his mood was gay. 
 London already the City of Recollections to 
 him pulsed with promise. Overhead the stars 
 were brilliant, and an artificial radiance tinged 
 the puddles on the road. In the stillness of 
 Southampton Row his reverie broke into voice: 
 " 'O, speak again, bright angel!' " he cried; and 
 an unexpected policeman scrutinised him as he 
 passed. Heavens, how absurd he was! But he 
 returned to Bloomsbury for a moment only, and 
 in the next he was under the balcony again, where 
 Blanche Ellerton leant as Juliet. And he spoke 
 Romeo's lines beyond the hearing of the police- 
 man until he trembled at the Burton Crescent 
 door. 
 
 "Mr. Rayne will resume the part to-morrow 
 evening." There was no exultance in his mood
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 125 
 
 then. Could he ever have exulted? The theatre 
 has heartaches "peculiarly its own" which was 
 the phrase by which Mrs. Ellerton habitually 
 described the grace of her heroines. To see a 
 part that has been played during months by the 
 woman he loves represented by her successor 
 means a heartache to an actor ; and a bad heart- 
 ache, accentuated by every familiar line the new- 
 comer delivers in such different tones from the 
 voice he is used to hear. Often she wears the 
 same frocks which are eloquent to him by asso- 
 ciation and mocks him with a poignant resem- 
 blance to the woman who is miles away, or dead, 
 until she turns her face. Perhaps this is the 
 worst. It hurts, though, on the eve of leaving 
 the company himself to act with a girl who is 
 dear to him. To-morrow night the story will 
 be played again she will be listening as she is 
 listening now; only, he will be absent, and an- 
 other man will speak the words to her instead. 
 No child sits in the dress-circle to whom the 
 scenery says so much as to the young actor who 
 is bidding it good-bye at a time like this ; he tries 
 to impress the picture on his brain, that not a 
 detail may be missing from his memory of her, 
 and feels for the rooms of canvas all the tender- 
 ness with which one quits a home. 
 
 Certainly Royce would retain the advantage
 
 126 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 of being the author he could still talk to Miss 
 Ellerton during her waits, as he had done before 
 the eventful Monday; but when he entered the 
 Dominion for his last performance there he was 
 wretched. 
 
 As the piece progressed, sentimentality swayed 
 him wholly. He might never act with her any 
 more. He felt as if he were falling from heaven 
 to a blank. Each minute was precious, and he 
 would have caught it and prevented its escape. 
 The result might have been foretold, though it 
 was unpremeditated he confessed in the love- 
 scenes all that he longed to confess in the wings ; 
 and in the situation where he had to clasp her 
 to him in despair, and swear he wouldn't let her 
 go, he lost control of himself in reality. The 
 approval of the audience was ardent there was 
 the loudest round of applause that had been 
 heard in the house since The Impostor was pro- 
 duced. But when Oliphant led Miss Ellerton 
 before the curtain and they made their bows, 
 they didn't look at each other. 
 
 "May I speak to you?" he said presently, 
 when she came downstairs dressed to leave the 
 theatre. 
 
 "Mr. Oliphant?" 
 
 "Yes, I've been waiting to speak to you; I 
 can't go without speaking to you." Yet for a
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 127 
 
 moment he could find nothing to say. "You 
 know, don't you? Blanche, I love you!" 
 
 She was at the foot of the staircase. The stage 
 was so dark now that her pale face was indistinct ; 
 he could see little more than that it was hers. 
 "Do you care for me at all? If I get on, will 
 you marry me?" Some of his life seemed to 
 leave his mouth with the last question. He 
 touched her hand diffidently there was a glove 
 on it, and the cold suede chilled him. "Blanche?" 
 
 After a long silence she said: 
 
 "You've surprised me very much. I Oh, 
 
 no ; I don't mean to marry for years and years !" 
 
 "Why not?" he asked in a dreary voice. 
 
 "It would hamper me frightfully. And be- 
 sides " 
 
 "And besides I'm nothing to you?" 
 
 "Oh, you're not to say that," she returned; 
 "you're a friend; and I hope you'll keep one. 
 Our friendship has been so charming and so in- 
 teresting, hasn't it? It would be simply horrid 
 if we could never talk together again just because 
 of this." She smiled. "You will forget, I'm 
 sure." 
 
 "No," he said, "I shan't forget. If if I 
 remember long enough if I succeed will there 
 be a chance for me then?" 
 
 "Oh," she exclaimed, "but I'm not going to
 
 128 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 marry for years and years and years, I tell you! 
 Marriage is a mistake for a young girl in the 
 profession, unless she marries somebody very 
 influential." 
 
 "But but if you loved me, Blanche?" 
 "Don't let us talk nonsense; very likely I 
 shan't marry at all; I shall live and die an old 
 maid. Can you see me? with a cap, and pepper- 
 and-salt ringlets ! . . . We shall remain friends, 
 shan't we? I must say 'Good-night' I've my 
 train to catch." 
 
 "May I walk to the station with you?" 
 "Yes, if you like. But you're not to be foolish, 
 mind!" 
 
 They passed through the passage and turned 
 into the Strand which was henceforth to have 
 to him yet another memory. The bright decision 
 of her tones at once intensified his suffering, and 
 precluded the possibility of his rinding further 
 words ; he did not disobey her verbally. On the 
 Temple platform he closed the door of the first- 
 class compartment that she selected, and yearned 
 at her with wide eyes through the glass till the 
 train rushed on. She was praying meanwhile 
 that it would be quick to start, for she held only 
 a third-class ticket. 
 
 Now she was gone. The line was empty; and 
 he moved heavily away into the street.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 HE determined not to go near the Dominion 
 for a week, and it was two days before he did go. 
 Then he denied himself the stage-door and went 
 into the dress-circle. It was delicious pain. It 
 is, of course, desirable to bear "the pangs of 
 despised love" for any woman "the beautiful 
 time when one was so unhappy" cannot, in fact, 
 be repeated too often but to be wretched for an 
 actress is best of all; the emotion is richer and 
 more varied than being miserable for a girl in 
 Society. A man refused by a girl in Society, for 
 example, cannot feast his eyes on her features 
 and get intoxicated on the sweetness of her voice 
 for two hours and a half without her knowing he 
 is there. Oliphant availed himself of the oppor- 
 tunities of his position for a fortnight to the 
 fullest extent. 
 
 That he did not avail himself of them longer 
 was because they temporarily ceased to exist. 
 The Impostor was withdrawn, and Miss Eller- 
 ton, like himself, was out of an engagement. In 
 
 129
 
 130 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 her advertisements in The Era she called it 
 "resting." 
 
 He now regretted that he had not gone "be- 
 hind" oftener after the evening of his declaration. 
 He could see her from the dress-circle when she 
 played another part; but when would he be able 
 to stand beside her in the wings again? Perhaps 
 never ! 
 
 Fortunately there were other matters to oc- 
 cupy his mind. Excepting that enough remained 
 of the hundred pounds to spare him pecuniary 
 anxiety, his situation really appeared much the 
 same as before The Impostor was produced. 
 That his performance of "Clement" had borne 
 good fruit he knew; but the fruit was not ripe 
 or he could not reach it. Momentarily he seemed 
 no better off than if there had not been any fruit 
 at all. The Press had said that the London 
 managers ought to snap him up ; but they didn't. 
 Nobody displayed the least eagerness to prevent 
 his returning to the provinces ; the agents talked 
 about the provinces as persistently as ever. 
 Much better parts, much better salaries, were 
 offered to him, but always for tour. 
 
 Then at last he did obtain an engagement in 
 the West End; and once more the criticisms he 
 received were excellent; but the piece had as 
 short a run as his own, and he was not needed
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 131 
 
 for the next. All the same he might now have 
 remained in town. He was not wanted as a hero, 
 because so many of the theatres are in the hands 
 of actor-managers, who are their own heroes; 
 but he could have remained in town, and earned 
 ten or even fifteen pounds a week before the year 
 ended, for there are very few professions better 
 paid than the stage when once one turns the 
 corner. His stumbling-block was love. 
 
 It happened that in the Green Room Club, one 
 afternoon, he met Rayne. Rayne had lost a 
 good deal of money by Oliphant's drama; and 
 as "The Great Dominion Success," he was hop- 
 ing it would put something back in his pocket 
 by means of an autumn tour. There were about 
 half a dozen dramas "on the road" at this time 
 described as "The Great Dominion Success"; 
 some of them had run there a whole month. 
 
 "How are you?" he said. "I was just going 
 to drop you a line about the play. I suppose you 
 wouldn't care to go out with it?" 
 
 "Oh, no; I don't want to go on tour," said 
 Oliphant. 
 
 "Well, it's for the autumn, you know; every- 
 body will be on tour in the autumn. I go on 
 tour myself, with Erskine." 
 
 "Oh, you don't go out with it then?" 
 
 "I can't afford it I can't afford to throw
 
 132 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 away a big salary, my boy. No, I'm sending it 
 out with the cheapest company I can get to- 
 gether. It occurred to me that it might be worth 
 your while to play 'Clement' for the sake of the 
 piece. The better it goes, the better for you 
 as the author." 
 
 "Humph!" said Oliphant. 
 
 "If it does well, there are your fees for years; 
 if it does badly, that's the end of it short, sharp, 
 and decisive. I've no more money to lose, I can 
 tell you ; by George, the Dominion nearly ruined 
 me!" 
 
 "The cheapest company you can get together?" 
 said Oliphant ruefully. "The Impostor wants 
 acting; it won't play to great business with a 
 cheap crowd, I'm afraid." 
 
 "It must take its chance. I did all I could for 
 it here, and then what was the business like? I 
 haven't got back the hundred I put down on the 
 contract. I'm not sure the wisest course wouldn't 
 be to accept the loss and let the whole thing slide ; 
 I'm not sure of it by any means!" 
 
 Oliphant looked round the room without 
 speaking. It was Saturday and the tables were 
 already laid for the house-dinner, though it was 
 only three o'clock. A few actors were playing 
 poker near the small fire-place; a few others 
 lounged by the big one, puffing cigarettes; but
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 133 
 
 not many members were present yet the room 
 would fill after the matinees finished. 
 
 Rayne shifted his cigar between his teeth, and 
 continued with elaborate carelessness: 
 
 "Of course 'Clement' and 'Maud' ought to be 
 in good hands and 'Maud' I've got. If you 
 had seen your way to play 'Clement' at very low 
 terms, I think the tour would have been safe." 
 
 "You've got 'Maud'?" asked Oliphant. 
 "What's she like?" 
 
 "Oh, Miss Ellerton goes out with the piece; 
 I've managed that. I thought you knew." 
 
 He knew perfectly that he did not know; he 
 had been leading up to the announcement from 
 the beginning of the conversation. That Oli- 
 phant had been in love with Blanche Ellerton, 
 and that Blanche Ellerton might have been fond 
 of Oliphant, had meant a possibility of obtaining 
 two good artists at much less than their ordinary 
 salaries. He had been on the stage too long to 
 overlook it. With the girl, however, he had 
 failed ; she did not reduce her terms a pound when 
 he mentioned that Mr. Oliphant whom he had 
 not seen then had "practically settled with 
 him." Oliphant, therefore, would have to reduce 
 his tremendously! In his heart, indeed, Rayne 
 was a shade sorry for Oliphant. "Still, as Eller- 
 ton was engaged at her own figure, it was only
 
 134 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 fair that some of it should be contributed by her 
 mash!" That was how he put it afterwards to 
 the lady he laved. 
 
 "All right," said Oliphant, "I'll go. How 
 much do you want to pay?" 
 
 "My dear boy," answered Rayne, "I'm 
 ashamed to tell you. Upon my soul I am!" 
 
 He overcame his reluctance; and even the 
 lover started before he said "Yes." However, 
 he did say "Yes." He would have said "Yes" 
 to thirty shillings a week in view of the induce- 
 ment offered. On tour with Blanche! He 
 walked down Bedford Street intoxicated by the 
 prospect. 
 
 To the ordinary person there would seem little 
 that is attractive in a mode of life that involves 
 occupying different lodgings every six days, and 
 undertaking a railway journey to another town 
 every Sunday, and indeed Oliphant had come to 
 dislike it himself; but a goddess can change dis- 
 comfort to delight as easily as a fairy turns a 
 pumpkin into a chariot. 
 
 The tour commenced at Northampton on the 
 August Bank Holiday. The evenings, of course, 
 were much the same as the evenings at the 
 Dominion; but now there was no need to wait 
 until evening for a glimpse of Miss Ellerton. 
 Almost every fine morning, if he were patient
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 135 
 
 enough, he could be certain of meeting her in the 
 Drapery ; and then what more natural than that 
 he should accompany her on her way? Occa- 
 sionally they forsook the shop -windows the 
 shop-windows of Northampton are not the most 
 alluring and wandered through Hardingstone 
 Fields, where there is nothing to remind the 
 pedestrian of shoe manufactories and pork-pies, 
 and the country is as sylvan as if there were not 
 a chimney within a hundred miles. 
 
 From Northampton The Impostor proceeded 
 to Leicester, but the name, the industry, of the 
 town they happened to be in was really of very 
 slight consequence to the players. Whether the 
 chief thoroughfare was called the "Drapery" or 
 the "High Street," whether the theatre was 
 known as the "Royal" or the "Grand," their 
 habits and the pursuits remained the same. A 
 touring actor's world moves with him on Sunday. 
 On Monday when he wakes up in another city, 
 his surroundings are to all intents and purposes 
 what they were in the last city the day before. 
 The characteristics of the streets impress him 
 very little he views so many new streets and 
 the myriad dwellings contain nothing but stran- 
 gers to him wherever he may be. The population 
 is merely the "public," whose raison d'etre is 
 to go to see the "show." His friendships, his
 
 136 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 quarrels, his interests are in the theatrical com- 
 pany in which he is engaged. 
 
 The drama did not attract the provincial play- 
 goers in large numbers, but the author was not 
 severely chagrined. So long as he could saunter 
 beside Blanche Ellerton in the morning, and now 
 and again call upon her in the afternoon, he was 
 able to pardon the box-office record. The after- 
 noon visits, indeed, with tea in the twilight, were 
 the rarest privileges of all, and by and by they 
 held moments in which he was convinced it wasn't 
 conceited to feel that she was fond of him. 
 
 And he was right. When this conviction con- 
 vulsed him it was the middle of October. For 
 nearly three months they had been constantly in 
 each other's society. They had been in each 
 other's arms on the stage at night, and walked 
 and talked together during the day. When the 
 towns afforded opportunities, they had made 
 little excursions to the Castle from Leaming- 
 ton ; to Jesmond Dene from Newcastle-on-Tyne. 
 Because he was curious about her Juliet, they 
 had read the Balcony Scene together in her lodg- 
 ings ; her Juliet perhaps would not have pleased 
 him quite so much if it had been anybody's else, 
 but then her ambition did not lie in the direction 
 of Shakespeare and blank verse. He had shown 
 her he adored her in the most flattering way
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 137 
 
 by endeavouring to conceal it in obedience to her 
 command. She was a very practical young 
 woman ; she had erected as many "warnings" for 
 her guidance through life as disfigure Hamp- 
 stead Heath; but, being a woman and young, it 
 was not astonishing that her feelings should have 
 trespassed. 
 
 She did not succumb to the weakness without a 
 struggle, and she mourned the circumstances by 
 which^the weakness was caused. She had always 
 hoped to marry an influential man possessing a 
 large income ; influential, because she did not wish 
 to contract a marriage that would necessitate 
 her leaving the theatre, but longed for notoriety ; 
 possessing a large income, because she loved 
 luxury more, had a passion for it; thirsted to 
 see her figure in silk petticoats and satin corsets, 
 and to let them fall to the floor indifferently when 
 she undressed, since she had so many of them; 
 wanted to lie in a perfumed bath, and have her 
 maid bring her chocolate; and be surprised by a 
 friend as she nestled over her bedroom fire in a 
 wrapper that cost more than her best frocks to- 
 day. It had been her aim to avoid any errors 
 of judgment that would increase her difficulties; 
 and now she had been idiotic enough to become 
 fond of an actor without reputation or means. 
 Yes, Blanche Ellerton regretted having signed
 
 138 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 for the tour of The Impostor very keenly when 
 she was calm; only she was not always calm, and 
 these moments in which she yielded to sentiment 
 were as exquisite to herself as to the man she 
 loved. 
 
 Nevertheless she had no intention of yielding 
 to it unreservedly, and she wondered if it would 
 take her long to forget him when they separated ; 
 if the nonsensical ache would be bad to bear. 
 The tour was drawing to a close, and after it 
 finished, of course, they would scarcely meet. 
 That was well! Perhaps he might come out to 
 Earl's Court once or twice, but not oftener cer- 
 tainly. Once or twice couldn't be helped. If 
 she had not asked him to call when they were 
 at the Dominion, however, she need never have 
 seen him again at all. How stupid she had been 
 to ask him! Still she had acted from business 
 motives; he had been very taken with her, and 
 how could she know but what he might have 
 another play produced in London soon? Yes, 
 she had been quite right that she would be a 
 fool about him later was a thing she couldn't 
 foresee. She stretched her arms above her head 
 and yawned. Heigho, these beastly rooms ! 
 
 Oh, she was dull! What a shame it was that 
 a woman like herself should be moped in poky 
 lodgings, and have to buy two-and-elevenpenny
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 139 
 
 house-shoes! And she had such pretty feet! 
 Royce would . . . yes, Royce would like her 
 feet. . . . How ridiculously he thought of her! 
 and she had really been quite candid that night 
 when he popped. Perhaps not quite so candid 
 since. When one liked a man, of course one did, 
 naturally, take a little pose of Well, one 
 sympathetically adopted his favourite key. A 
 woman, though, would have known her for ever 
 after that night. . . . Men were very much nicer 
 than women. If He was a darling! Why 
 wasn't she a woman who could afford to be 
 absurd? it would be lovely to marry him! 
 Wouldn't it be lovely? She wasn't yawning 
 now, she was smiling. The street-door bell rang, 
 and she quivered with a hope which she felt to be 
 childish, for he never came unless he was invited. 
 
 It was his voice ! She sprang up, and dragged 
 the powder-puff from her pocket, and pulled at 
 her favourite curl, and threw herself back in a 
 graceful position before he had wiped his boots. 
 
 "Come in," she said languidly. Then on a 
 note of surprise: "You?" 
 
 "Am I in the way?" asked Oliphant, his eyes 
 devouring her. "I've had good news, and I I 
 wanted to tell you about it." 
 
 "Good news? No; sit down, do! What is it?" 
 
 "It's an offer."
 
 140 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 "For London?" 
 
 "Yes, more! I go to the Pantheon. Greatorex 
 offers me Faust!" 
 
 It does not merit contempt that her first emo- 
 tion was a pang of jealousy; or, if you must 
 be contemptuous, despise human nature and 
 not Blanche Ellerton. It was inevitable that 
 she should be envious. For an actor to be 
 chosen from the provinces to play "seconds" to 
 Greatorex to create such a part as Faust before 
 a first-night audience at the Pantheon was 
 almost the highest conceivable compliment. The 
 Impostor company had been shaken to the core 
 recently when the whisper ran round the dress- 
 ing-rooms that "Greatorex was in front." They 
 had watched him from the wings, and acted at 
 him from the stage; they had all even to the 
 humblest among them dreamed their dreams in 
 secret for a day or two and pictured the opening 
 of a note that would mean that their abilities 
 were recognised at last. And the unlikely 
 honour of an "offer" from Greatorex had fallen 
 but on him; and she remained where she was. 
 
 "I am so glad," she murmured. "Well, you 
 are simply made nowi" 
 
 "I'm on the road, I think," he said. "I ought 
 never to look back after this if I'm all right in 
 the part. Of course I'm already quaking with
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 141 
 
 the ghastly misgiving that I shan't be found all 
 right." 
 
 "What nonsense! Besides, it will be all 
 Mephistopheles, you may be sure." She couldn't 
 help saying that, and after it was uttered she 
 felt more generous towards him. "You'll be a 
 success," she added; "I'm certain of it. I'll come 
 and see you." 
 
 "Will you? Not the first night? Good 
 heavens, how nervous I shall be !" 
 
 "I don't suppose I could get seats for the first 
 night if I tried. You may send me a couple 
 if you like; but I daresay you won't be able to 
 get them either. I say, you will be a swell now; 
 how you'll look down on us poor people 1" 
 
 Oliphant laughed, with a reproach on his face. 
 "If I'm anxious to get on, it's that you may like 
 me better." 
 
 "What a cruel thing to say!" she replied, smil- 
 ing. "And what a story, too! Didn't you want 
 to get on before we knew each other?" 
 
 "Not so much." 
 
 "Now you're making fun of me that's un- 
 kind. When did you hear? You must tell me 
 all about it!" 
 
 She did not want to talk herself yet; she 
 wanted to think. She looked musingly at the 
 "Weighing of the Deer," surmounted by a Japa-
 
 142 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 nese fan, between the windows. The question in 
 her mind was, How much difference did this piece 
 of luck make? Common-sense answered "None," 
 firmly. His engagement might be a thing of 
 the past in six months, and have left him just 
 what he was now, excepting that for the rest of 
 his life he would pepper his conversation with 
 inapposite remarks, beginning, "That reminds 
 me of an experience I had when I was with 
 Greatorex." No, it could make no difference 
 to anybody who wasn't a love-sick girl eager to 
 find an excuse for being silly! A few months' 
 rapture. And the price? Two-and-elevenpenny 
 slippers to the day she died; a cheap existence 
 burdened with babies, and enlivened by the 
 perusal of panegyrics passed on the women who 
 had outstripped her in the race ! 
 
 "Supposing," said Oliphant, "I get good 
 notices, and I remain there for the next pro- 
 duction, and for years?" 
 
 "I hope you will." 
 
 "It would be a grand engagement one could 
 scarcely hope for anything finer." 
 
 "You'd have been very fortunate indeed." 
 
 He left his seat, and went over to her side. 
 
 "You said if you married, it would have to be 
 a successful man. Blanche, I am succeeding;
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 143 
 
 and with you Oh, we should go right to the 
 
 top together!" 
 
 She bit her lip, and her eyelids fell. 
 
 "Blanche may I call you Blanche?" 
 
 "Yes," she said, almost inaudibly. 
 
 "Blanche, my darling, be kind to me! Oh, 
 marry me, for God's sake now, to-morrow! 
 Let's risk everything! You shall never regret 
 it. I swear you shan't! Will you?" 
 
 She shook her head; she didn't wish to trust 
 her voice again just yet. 
 
 "Don't you like me at all?" he demanded 
 impetuously. "Not a little bit?" Her silence 
 continued, but her head was motionless. He 
 dropped on to the stool beside her armchair and 
 seized her hands, and showered kisses on them 
 till she snatched them away because they were 
 playing her false. 
 
 "Oh, be sensible!" she exclaimed. "In a year 
 we should hate each other!" 
 
 "I would worship you! You don't know me 
 if you think I could ever love you less." 
 
 "I know myself. I wasn't meant for domes- 
 ticity in the back-parlour I wasn't meant for 
 domesticity at all. I'm an artist; I've my own 
 life to live, my own ambitions to satisfy. I want 
 to be paragraphed, and interviewed, and photo- 
 graphed, and run after. You couldn't give me
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 one of these things I want. I know it I know it 
 as well as if I'd been your wife ten years. Quite 
 the reverse! You'd make everything more diffi- 
 cult for me impossible for me! If you do get 
 on, what then? What good will it do me?" 
 
 "I'd buy the world for you!" 
 
 "With good intentions? You can never be a 
 
 rich man, my dear boy and if you marry, you 
 
 will always be a poor one. You may succeed 
 I think you will succeed but your success will 
 mean a name, not a fortune. Then what have 
 you to offer for spoiling my career? Am I to be 
 content to sit in the stalls all my life, and hear 
 you applauded?" She beat the treacherous hands 
 in her lap, the bitterer because she was fighting 
 against her heart. "What can any ordinary man 
 offer a girl who has a future without him? Mar- 
 riage is all very well for women with no profes- 
 sion as a Home for the Helpless they were 
 nonentities anyhow. But what does it give to 
 a woman like me in return for all it costs? I 
 don't need to be presented with shelter. I should 
 be a lunatic!" 
 
 "Plenty of married women have been famous 
 actresses," urged Royce; "very few famous 
 actresses haverit married. And I may have a 
 theatre one day; I know a man who would help 
 me."
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 145 
 
 She had small faith in the man. 
 
 "Do you think marriage made the struggle any 
 easier for them?" she retorted. 
 
 "Yes, I flo, if their husbands loved them, and 
 could sympathise with their ideas. Besides, to 
 be an artist, a woman must love!" 
 
 "Yes," she said, "but to be a poor man's wife 
 she must be a fool." 
 
 He choked with mortification and pain. 
 
 "You care nothing about me, of course, or you 
 couldn't argue so." 
 
 "No," she said, inwardly triumphant, "I sup- 
 pose that's true." 
 
 He left, cursing the vanity by which he had 
 deceived himself. And she bit a hole in her 
 handkerchief and cried.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THEY spoke together in the wings briefly that 
 evening; indeed for two or three evenings there 
 was restraint between them. Perhaps it would 
 have lasted longer, but on Saturday night he 
 happened to hear that by a chapter of accidents 
 she had been unable to arrange for apartments 
 in the next town and would have to look for 
 some when she arrived. Even the worst-paid 
 members of a theatrical company engage their 
 rooms by letter; for the trifling reduction in the 
 rent that may be obtained by a personal applica- 
 tion does not compensate for the dreariness of 
 tramping from address to address after a long 
 journey until a vacant lodging is found. He 
 begged her to take his. She refused; and "vow- 
 ing she would ne'er consent, consented." 
 
 As it was now Oliphant who had no rooms and 
 no dinner awaiting him, the lady insisted that he 
 should dine with her and share the chicken which 
 he had been the one to order. The circumstances 
 precluded formality, and the estrangement was 
 
 146
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 147 
 
 at an end. He was thankful that it had been a 
 chicken. It might easily have been half a pound 
 of steak, which would have been awkward. 
 
 Still he was resolved never to revert to the 
 subject of his love for her again; and he kept his 
 resolution so well that she grew hungry for the 
 music of the tale tabooed. Perhaps that was 
 why she did not hesitate when he suggested an- 
 other excursion. It may not have been so, but 
 even if it was, her inconsistency was equalled by 
 his own, for this excursion that he meditated was 
 a veritable sentimental journey, aggravated by 
 the proposed companionship. 
 
 A few miles distant lay a country town which 
 was intimately associated with his boyhood. He 
 had gone there with his father seventeen years 
 ago, and never seen it since. He had scarcely 
 seen it, in fact, when he bade it good-bye, for 
 he had bidden good-bye to his first sweetheart 
 at the same time, and been blind with tears. The 
 maiden had been twelve, and he a stout thirteen. 
 During a long heartache he had made abortive 
 efforts to paint the scene of this early romance 
 in water-colours on cartridge paper. He failed, 
 not because his memory of the spot had weak- 
 ened, but because he had never painted anything 
 hitherto excepting a dog kennel. The best pic- 
 ture was the intangible one that disappeared
 
 148 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 when he woke; for he dreamed of arriving at 
 the little station, and surprising Mary Page in 
 the orchard her name was Mary Page vividly 
 and often; and he could never eat his breakfast 
 on the morning after the dream occurred, so sick 
 was he with the longings of his little soul, the 
 craving for the sight of Mary Page's plaits. He 
 now found himself as a man in the vicinity of 
 the place for which he had yearned so desperately 
 as a child, and he wanted to look at it again with 
 Blanche Ellerton by his side. 
 
 They had an hour's journey, for the train 
 travelled with intense deliberation, and stopped 
 at every opportunity. At last, however, they 
 arrived, and Royce, who discovered that the 
 hallowed station had been enlarged, inquired the 
 way to some wooden steps. 
 
 "There are some wooden steps leading to a 
 road with a hedge on each side, aren't there?" 
 he asked. 
 
 He was told there were not, and was discon- 
 certed. 
 
 "If there aren't," he said to Miss Ellerton, 
 "I'm afraid it's a failure. There were two houses 
 in a private lane, but I don't know what the lane 
 was called I don't think it was called anything. 
 The houses were Mowbray Lodge and Rose 
 Villa. I lived at Mowbray Lodge. I could walk
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 149 
 
 there blindfolded from the top of those steps. 
 They should be just here I've stood on them 
 a thousand times, and watched the sails of a 
 windmill go round." 
 
 "Did your First Love lean there with you?" 
 asked the actress; "it sounds like it." 
 
 "No, I don't remember her there; she was 
 always in the orchard opposite the two houses." 
 
 "Eating green apples!" 
 
 "They were ripe and the best apples I've 
 ever tasted. Here's somebody else! There are," 
 he repeated, "some wooden steps close by, lead- 
 ing to a road with a hedge on each side, aren't 
 there?" 
 
 "Lord love yer," answered the native, "there 
 ain't been no steps 'ere this ten year!" He 
 seemed to think the question very foolish, and 
 continued his way. 
 
 "Rip Van Winkle, the steps have vanished," 
 said Miss Ellerton. "What next?" 
 
 Royce pondered, and looked about him. 
 
 "Well, the road can't be gone, at any rate," 
 he said. "Perhaps it's at the top of this slope? 
 I didn't notice we were on a slope, did you? 
 Shall we try?" 
 
 She thought it a good idea; and the road was 
 there. 
 
 "Ha," cried the young man radiantly, "how
 
 150 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 it all comes back to me! I hear my own moun- 
 tain-goats bleating aloft, and know the sweet 
 strain that the corn-reapers sing. But I'm sorry 
 they've taken away those steps! We go over 
 the bridge, and the lane is on the right. Isn't it 
 pretty? I wish we'd come in summer, though!" 
 
 "It's very pretty now," she said. 
 
 The entrance to the lane occurred unexpect- 
 edly, at least to her ; the low wall above which the 
 trees waved made a quick curve, and was lost 
 in a laurel-bush. Oliphant urged her forward 
 joyously, and then they were on the other side 
 of the wall, and opposite a gate which divided 
 them from a weed-grown carriage-drive. He 
 said: "Mowbray Lodge!" And when he lifted 
 the growth of encroaching creeper, the name was 
 indeed visible which was to him like a kiss from 
 the past. After a minute they came to another 
 house, also lying back from the lane behind a gate 
 and carriage-drive; and this time he said "Rose 
 Villa!" 
 
 "Are you satisfied?" she smiled. 
 
 "I am sad," he declared quite truthfully, 
 though a moment before he had been delighted. 
 "Do you see that fence? It separates the Mow- 
 bray Lodge and Rose Villa gardens. It was 
 across that fence I first saw her. Come, I'll show 
 you the orchard that I used to try to paint. But
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 151 
 
 oh, this is quite different! None of that glass 
 was there ; it was all open it had nothing, noth- 
 ing at all, except the apple-trees and two chil- 
 dren. Look, there's a man in his shirt-sleeves, 
 digging. Let's go over to him!" 
 
 The ground had been acquired by Mr. 'Obbs, 
 the florist in the 'Igh Street, they learnt; and 
 both the houses were to let. "Page"? Yes, the 
 man remembered the name of Page. The father 
 had been a doctor, hadn't he? They had been 
 gone oh, a matter of nine years. 
 
 "I believe you're sorry you came," said Miss 
 Ellerton gaily. "Did you expect to find Mary 
 waiting for you?" 
 
 "It would have been romantic to find her living 
 here still, wouldn't it? Though, of course, she 
 wouldn't have known me. But I don't think it's 
 Mary I'm melancholy about so much as 
 
 "As what?" 
 
 He sighed. "I don't know it's so pathetic to 
 be 'grown up.' ' 
 
 She accepted it as a jest, and laughed; but 
 he had spoken quite seriously. Thoughts of his 
 childhood crowded on him. His father used to 
 stroll along this lane in the sunset, with a pipe 
 between his lips. There was no sunset now, and 
 the lips were cold, but the dead day lived again 
 to Oliphant. His sweetheart, Mary with the
 
 152 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 golden plaits, must be how old? Nine-and- 
 twenty! He realised it with a shock. If it had 
 been nineteen! But nine and twenty! There 
 was tragedy in the difference between such an age 
 and twelve. And the boy he recalled so tenderly, 
 where was he? Gone too. He would have loved 
 to commune with him, as the boy had always 
 looked forward to his doing. How beautiful a 
 comrade! But life was so large, and the boy 
 had been lost, somewhere among the years, and 
 was only a memory. 
 
 "At this point," said Miss Ellerton, "an ex- 
 traordinary thing happens! You see the figure 
 of a young and lovely woman in a contemplative 
 attitude. And she is Mary Page revisiting her 
 old home. It would act well. Could you play 
 the scene?" 
 
 "The heroine would speak first," said Royce, 
 rousing himself. "What would she say?" 
 
 "Oh, she begins with a question. She says: 
 'Excuse me, but can you tell me if there is a 
 caretaker here? I see the house is to let.' ' 
 
 ' 'I am a stranger,' " answered Oliphant; "I 
 am sorry I don't know.' ' 
 
 ' 'I saw you coming from the garden. I 
 fancied perhaps 
 
 " 'I've been guilty of trespassing. I knew that 
 garden well once ; I couldn't pass it by.' '
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 153 
 
 "'Fowknewit? You?'" 
 
 " 'Dr. Page lived here in the days I speak of.' ' 
 
 * 'Dr. Page was my father's name.' ' 
 
 " 'Your father? Mary! Oh, forgive me I But 
 am I quite forgotten?' ' 
 
 " 'You are Royce Oliphant? Oh, this is 
 wonderful indeed !' ' 
 
 They looked in each other's eyes and laughed 
 together. Then a shadow crossed the girl's face, 
 and she said half playfully, half in earnest : 
 
 "I do believe that's just what you'd really 
 like!" 
 
 "What is?" 
 
 "To see Mary here and make love to her. But 
 I daresay she's fat and ugly, and you'd be dis- 
 appointed." 
 
 "She had a beautiful nature," said Oliphant. 
 "I hope that hasn't got ugly." 
 
 "A 'beautiful nature' a brat of twelve! 
 What did she do always give you the lemon- 
 peel off her cake? I should look for her and 
 marry her if I were you." 
 
 "I expect she married long ago. Why have 
 you turned cross all of a sudden?" 
 
 "Cross?" she echoed with amazement. "I'm 
 not in the least cross. . . . Only this is rather 
 dull, you know, standing about a wet lane and 
 pretending to be somebody else."
 
 154. THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 "Why," he cried, paling, "it was you who sug- 
 gested that! If I'd guessed it bored you 
 Let's go I I'm ever so sorry." 
 
 "I don't want to go; I'm tired. I want," she 
 said imperiously, "to sit down on that bench, and 
 have some buns and lemonade." 
 
 "Won't you come and have some tea?" 
 
 "No, thank you," she said. . . . "Well, shall 
 we go home?" 
 
 "Will you stay here half an hour alone?" 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 "As well as I remember there isn't a shop 
 anywhere near; but if you don't mind waiting, 
 I'll race into the town." 
 
 "Very well," she assented. "I'll wait for you." 
 
 Although the task that she had set him was a 
 troublesome one to fulfil, and though she looked 
 triumphant when he returned in a heat to min- 
 ister to her requirements, she ate only a fragment 
 of bun, and sipped but little of the lemonade. 
 This puzzled him very much. He decided, at 
 last, that she must have grown faint during the 
 delay; and he said so. And then she seemed to 
 smile involuntarily, which puzzled him more. 
 However, her amiability was restored. 
 
 Presently she said in a careless tone : 
 
 "What do you call a 'beautiful nature'? I 
 mean in a woman?"
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 155 
 
 "I don't follow you." 
 
 "You used the expression about something. 
 Oh yes ! You said that that child had a beautiful 
 nature, that was itl" 
 
 "Well, it's rather difficult to define," replied 
 Oliphant. 
 
 "You mean 'unpractical,' I suppose?" 
 
 "Say 'unworldly.' " 
 
 "It's the same thing let's keep to 'unpracti- 
 cal'! Why why should men look down on a 
 woman for being practical? They don't look 
 down on one another, do they?" 
 
 "I don't think it's true that they do look down 
 on her." 
 
 "Yes, it is," she said; "they want women to 
 be fools." 
 
 "Only men who are fools themselves." 
 
 "Do you think you're a fool?" 
 
 "I don't want women to be fools." 
 
 "But you despise a girl for being sensible." 
 
 "I don't know what you mean." He was be- 
 ginning to be troubled. 
 
 "You do," she said with a catch in her voice. 
 "You despise me!" 
 
 The gardener in his shirt-sleeves had disap- 
 peared. Where they sat, Oliphant could see 
 nothing but the trees and her distress. Emotion
 
 156 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 for an instant held him dumb ; but it was for an 
 instant only. 
 
 Then it was she who was troubled by the blaze 
 she had made, though warmed at the same time 
 by the ardour of it. 
 
 "No, no," she said, "I told you it was impos- 
 sible." 
 
 "But you shall you shall! I won't let you 
 go till you say 'Yes.' ' 
 
 "You are mad to want me. I'm a piece of 
 stone." 
 
 "I'd kiss you into life if you were !" 
 
 "I'm not good enough for you. Oh, believe, 
 believe I'm not!" 
 
 "My God, there's nobody on earth like you! 
 Tell me you love me." 
 
 "I don't!" 
 
 "You do ! and you shall say it. Tell me !" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Tell me you love me!" 
 
 "I'm stronger than you think I won't!" 
 
 He began to fear that she never would; and 
 indeed she did not say it. But the next second 
 her face turned whiter, and she flung her arms 
 round his neck. And after all they were engaged.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 AND the moment when she first regretted it 
 was seven hours later, after the candle was out, 
 when she lay thinking. But the next morning, 
 when she was in his arms, she was reckless again 
 and happy. 
 
 They did not love each other, but both were 
 violently in love, and thought they did. But 
 the woman's self-knowledge was at least greater 
 than the man's, and she knew that there could 
 never be any person in the world whom she loved 
 quite so dearly as herself. Therefore she was 
 exigent and imperious, and if he had been less 
 infatuated, would have appeared unreasonable 
 in the demands she made upon his time; for she 
 wished to stifle the knowledge and the voice of 
 wisdom, and when he was with her she succeeded. 
 
 As he asked no better than to be with her all 
 day long, it was only when the candle was out 
 that the voice of wisdom had a listener. 
 
 And then she argued with it, and said that it 
 was maligning her, and that she was a much nicer 
 
 157
 
 158 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 girl than it knew. It was a fact that she was 
 forsaking her faith, but since it had been a false 
 faith she was acting wisely to desert it. She was 
 converted ! 
 
 Of course at home they wouldn't rej oice ! She 
 hesitated to write the news; and then decided to 
 write it quickly, so that they might have time to 
 accustom themselves to the idea before she saw 
 them. It would mean more novelettes, or in- 
 creased economy; she wasn't going to continue 
 to help them after she was married it wouldn't 
 be fair to Royce. A woman's first duty was to 
 her husband. Besides, it would be horrid to 
 have to admit to him that her people were in 
 such straitened circumstances. No ; Royce, poor 
 boy, was burdening his back to win her every 
 shilling that she earned belonged to him! . . . 
 Mother who would feel the difference most 
 would behave best about it. Father would 
 advise her to take years to make up her mind, 
 and be doubly disagreeable to mother. Ger- 
 trude? Gertrude would be jealous of her as 
 usual. On the whole the house would be none 
 too pleasant during her engagement; she was 
 sorry she had to return to it. ... How Royce, 
 though, would loathe taking her salary, the dear ! 
 And going to the Pantheon as he was, he could 
 certainly do without it at all events if she didn't
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 159 
 
 have a baby. Probably he would refuse to touch 
 a penny of it and tell her to keep it for pocket- 
 money. Really their life would be quite charm- 
 ing! With nothing to do with her salary but 
 
 buy frocks and hats And then Royce would 
 
 want to give her frocks and hats as well! Oh, 
 she was glad, glad she was being brave, and 
 marrying for love God had been very good to 
 her! 
 
 The Impostor company disbanded at St. Pan- 
 eras a few Sundays later. Sunday was addition- 
 ally tedious to her and Oliphant now, for the 
 men and women being divided when they 
 travelled this was the day on which they saw 
 least of each other. When St. Pancras was 
 gained, the lovers had not spoken together for 
 more than two minutes during three hours. Oli- 
 phant hurried to her compartment at once. 
 There were general handshakes amid the clamour 
 for cabs. Many of the company who had become 
 staunch friends would not meet again for years, 
 as has been said before, and names and faces 
 alike would be forgotten ; but this afternoon they 
 were still comrades, and the men exclaimed: "Ta, 
 ta, dear boy! I suppose you turn up in the 
 Strand?" and the women kissed one another 
 affectionately, and repeated, "Now, mind you 
 write!"
 
 160 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 Royce and the girl stood on the platform con- 
 ferring. It had been arranged that he should 
 not go out to Earl's Court before the morrow; 
 but all at once both felt the manner of their 
 parting to be melancholy, and he begged that 
 instead of their separating at the station, she 
 would at least let him drive some of the way with 
 her. She said "yes" readily enough, so he had 
 his own luggage deposited in the cloak-room, and 
 got into her hansom. 
 
 Needless to say, she had made use of her 
 powder-puff before the train stopped; and she 
 was one of the women who knew how to tie a 
 veil. She put on her gloves well, too. She could 
 not help their quality, but she didn't commit the 
 infamy of buying them tight, and skipping the 
 first button. Women's hands were meant to be 
 squeezed, but she knew they were not meant to 
 be squeezed into gloves. Oliphant took Blanche 
 Ellerton's hand, and thought what a wonderful 
 thing it was to be a woman. There was no power 
 like it ! What a delicate little nose she had ; and 
 how tempting her lips were under the net! 
 
 "Darling!" he said; "put your veil up." 
 
 "Oh, I can't! People would see us." 
 
 "The street's empty; look!" 
 
 So for ten seconds she put up her veil. 
 
 "I've been miserable all the journey," he said.
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 161 
 
 She confessed coquettishly that she also had 
 found it dull; and after he had rhapsodised: 
 
 "I wish this fellow wouldn't drive so fast!" 
 he exclaimed; "I don't know how I shall get 
 through this evening. YouYL have your people; 
 but 7 shall have nothing only your likenesses." 
 
 " 'Only' indeed! Give 'em back to me if you 
 don't appreciate them." 
 
 "Oh, you know what I mean!" 
 
 "Do I?" 
 
 "I shall spend the time writing you a letter." 
 
 "Silly Billy! You won't? Not really?" 
 
 "I believe I shall! Blanche, you're quite sure 
 they won't make obstacles to-morrow when I 
 come? You won't keep me waiting a year for 
 
 you?" 
 
 "Is a year long?" she murmured, gleaming 
 with mischief. 
 
 "Oh," he cried, "a year! It's going to be soon, 
 isn't it?" 
 
 "Well, we'll see how good you are! Why are 
 you in such a hurry?" 
 
 "Because I love you! love you! love you! . . . 
 Have I torn it? oh, I'm so sorry! Why did you 
 pull it down again? . . . Blanche!" 
 
 "M-m?" 
 
 "Where shall we live?"
 
 162 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 "My dear !" she laughed. "This is very prevu 
 ous!" 
 
 "No, it isn't; what have we to wait for? We 
 could take a little house somewhere to-morrow; 
 we could furnish it on the hire-system. And we 
 can save a heap out of my salary. Even if I left 
 the Pantheon after Faust we should have plenty 
 to live on till I got something else." 
 
 "Yes," she said; "we shouldn't starve, I know. 
 Don't forget there's my salary as well." 
 
 "Yours?" he exclaimed; "yes, there's yours, 
 of course ; but I don't want you to buy your own 
 bread-and-butter, sweetheart. It isn't as if I 
 were still getting five pounds a week and we 
 couldn't marry unless we clubbed together." 
 
 "Don't be so ridiculous," she answered, warm 
 with happiness ; "what do you suppose I'm going 
 to do with the money then? You'll tell me next 
 you want me to leave the profession!" 
 
 "I won't do that because I know how 
 wretched you'd be. But there's one thing I 
 want ; I want you to remain in town. You won't 
 go on tour if I'm in London, Blanche?" 
 
 She hesitated. "Not from choice, naturally. 
 I should like London shops myself." 
 
 "But I mean assuming you can't get one, and 
 you are offered a tour; you wouldn't accept it?" 
 
 "But if I didn't, I might be out for a year at
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 163 
 
 a stretch ; to all intents and purposes I should be 
 leaving the profession." 
 
 "Oh, nonsense!" he said cheerfully; "if / can 
 stop in town, you can certainly! It's easier for 
 a girl to get on than for a man." 
 
 "They say it is, as a rule. But there are 
 exceptions to every rule, aren't there?" 
 
 "The proper thing would be joint engage- 
 ments." 
 
 "Yes, that would be simply charming," she 
 said. "Do you think you could get me into the 
 Pantheon? Oh, Royce, wouldn't it be simply 
 sweet if you could get me into the Pantheon!" 
 
 "I'll try, you may be sure; but, of course, it's 
 a difficult theatre for a woman I don't quite 
 know what you could do at the Pantheon. Still 
 I shan't be there for ever; we'll go to a house 
 where you can be lead although as I shan't 
 be lead, that won't be unalloyed bliss either. I 
 don't want to see another fellow making love to 
 you in every part you play!" 
 
 "As if it mattered!" she said scornfully. "I 
 shouldn't know he was there." 
 
 "Wouldn't you ? /should! It sounds a selfish 
 sentiment, Blanche, but upon my soul I almost 
 begin to wish you hadn't been an actress at all." 
 
 "How abominable! Oh!" She turned aston-
 
 164 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 ished eyes. "What a perfectly philistine thing 
 to say!" 
 
 "Yes, I know," returned Oliphant with a help- 
 less smile; "I know it's very philistine that's 
 exactly what I thought you'd call it. But I 
 worship the ground you walk on, and the hat 
 that's been on your head, and and that veil 
 I've torn on your face. My dear, you don't 
 know what you are to me. I shall be green with 
 jealousy every time the hero puts his arm around 
 your waist." 
 
 She drooped a little, so that her shoulder 
 thrilled him. 
 
 "And what about me," she said, "when you 
 make love to the ingenue?" 
 
 "Oh, Blanche, you know that's quite different!" 
 
 "Is it why?" 
 
 He could not explain precisely why ; so he held 
 her hand again behind the apron of the cab. At 
 last he said : 
 
 "Well, when we have that theatre of our own, 
 'all will be gas and gaiters' !" 
 
 "Ah!" she said; "and drive home together to 
 Cadogan Square or somewhere in our brough- 
 am!" 
 
 "Can you see it you and me in management?" 
 
 She had seen it. She saw Cadogan Square and 
 a brougham.
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 165 
 
 "Not Shakespeare all the time, dearest boy," 
 she said, "eh?" 
 
 "No, not Shakespeare all the time rather not; 
 very little Shakespeare. But I think you and 
 I would do good work together for all that; 
 shouldn't we? We shall have it I shall get on! 
 All I needed was to meet you to encourage me, 
 and keep me up to the mark. If I'm ever 
 tempted to sink the artist, refuse to live with me, 
 and say I won you by false pretences. No, seri- 
 ously, you'll be the making of me. A man by 
 himself is apt to get his ideals blunted the 
 world's hard, and it takes the edge off them; but 
 a girl like you would keep a fellow an artist to 
 the end of time." 
 
 She could never quite understand what his 
 ideals were, though she had often listened to him 
 on the subject. Now, however, when he said that 
 a girl like herself was such a boon and a blessing 
 his meaning seemed momentarily clearer. She 
 gave a sigh of response, and felt holy. 
 
 It is an error to suppose that Earl's Court 
 is never adjacent to St. Pancras. They had 
 stopped at the corner of the street. Having 
 ascertained that the trap in the roof was down, 
 Oliphant said good-bye to her, and then got out, 
 and was astonished that so very short a drive 
 could be more than a shilling fare. She waved
 
 166 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 her hand to him a second time, and the pleasure 
 within her had scarcely faded when she saw her 
 home. 
 
 Mrs. Ellerton, who had been watching for her 
 arrival, behind the spiram in the window, ran 
 to the door herself, and kissed her in the passage 
 almost as warmly as she desired to do. She had 
 not for years kissed her quite so warmly as she 
 desired to do ; the girl confessed that she was not 
 demonstrative, and since the summer when she 
 put her hair up, her mother had always been a 
 little afraid of a repulse. 
 
 Blanche followed her into the drawing-room. 
 As it was Sunday, and there might possibly be 
 callers, a fire had been lighted there. 
 
 "Tea will be ready directly," said Mrs. Eller- 
 ton; "I told Flora not to make it till you came. 
 Are you tired? Well, dear, I'm very pleased 
 what I wrote you is quite true, I'm very, very 
 pleased. I wish we'd seen more of him; but, of 
 course, all that's to come. When you're rested, 
 you must tell us everything." 
 
 "Where are the others?" asked her daughter, 
 unpinning her hat, and plucking at her hair. 
 "What does father say about it?" 
 
 "Well, dear," said Mrs. Ellerton evasively, "of 
 course we shall have to manage a little better, 
 shan't we ? And it's only proper that we should !
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 167 
 
 You'll have your own home to think of, and we 
 can't expect things to be quite the same. But 
 we couldn't hope to keep you with us always; it 
 was only to be supposed that this would happen 
 some day. And I do, do hope you've chosen 
 well, Blanche, and that he'll make you very 
 happy !" She half opened her arms, but the girl 
 was still arranging her hair in the looking-glass 
 and did not seem to see. 
 
 The novelist and Gertrude joined them now, 
 followed by the general servant with the teapot. 
 
 "I think I'll go upstairs and get my boots off," 
 said Blanche after the greetings. "Can Flora 
 take up my basket? Gertie, you might help her." 
 
 "That's a new coat," observed Gertrude, re- 
 garding her enviously; "you're always buying 
 new things! / can't help her with that great 
 basket I've been ill again. Why didn't you ask 
 the cabman?" 
 
 "Leave it till to-morrow, dear," said her 
 mother; "one of the tradesmen will carry it up 
 in the morning. You can take out what you 
 want for to-night; I'll come and help you pres- 
 ently." 
 
 "I'll get my boots off at once; I shan't be a 
 minute. Is that toast? Don't let Gertie eat it 
 all before I come back I'm hungry." 
 
 "How unromantic!" said Gertrude; "we
 
 168 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 thought perhaps you'd eat less now you're in 
 love. And my frocks are all on one side of the 
 wardrobe again, and I've left you half the chest 
 of drawers; so don't go taking pegs that don't 
 belong to you! I'm very glad to see you again, 
 Blanche, but you do make a difference to the 
 bedroom, I must say." 
 
 "Never mind," said Blanche; "you'll soon have 
 one all to yourself for the rest of your life !" 
 
 The toast was in the fender when she returned ; 
 and her father, a moment afterwards, approached 
 the momentous subject facetiously. 
 
 "So we are going to be married?" he said, stir- 
 ring his tea. 'There is nothing half so sweet 
 in life ' Is the happy day fixed?" 
 
 "No; it isn't fixed. Mr. Oliphant is coming to 
 see you all to-morrow." 
 
 "What time, my dear?" inquired her mother 
 with anxiety. "Will he come to dinner? We've 
 been dining at two since you've been away; I 
 suppose while you're not doing anything, we may 
 as well keep to it?" 
 
 "It's a funny time to dine, isn't it? What was 
 wrong with five?" 
 
 "Well, dear, so is five a funny time for any- 
 body who hasn't to play at night. And you've 
 no idea how much cheaper middle-day dinner 
 comes out; we have a haddock or eggs at seven,
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 169 
 
 and it only means a meat meal once a day. If 
 you don't mind 
 
 "Oh, it doesn't matter," said the girl, shrug- 
 ging her shoulders; "do as you please ask him 
 to stay to eggs !" 
 
 "We shall be glad to see Mr. Oliphant," said 
 the author. "But is he I hesitate to express 
 myself, Blanche I Is he coming to ask my 
 opinion? I inquire because I'm reluctant to tell 
 you my opinion. We can't, among ourselves, 
 ignore the fact that you have, from time to time, 
 been of er assistance to the household. My 
 opinion might, on that account, be misconstrued." 
 
 "I suppose you mean you don't think I ought 
 to marry him?" she said for answer. 
 
 He made a gesture expressive of helplessness. 
 
 "As I say, I hesitate to tell you what I think. 
 It seems to me to be a rash step, on both sides. 
 You have always been a clever girl. You've the 
 right to expect a husband in a first-rate position 
 your good looks, your talent, all give you the 
 right. If you waited, there is no doubt you 
 would marry into a good position. In choosing 
 a young man, an unknown young man, in an 
 exceptionally precarious calling, you seem to me 
 to be throwing yourself away. But though this 
 is my opinion, it's perhaps not worth uttering,
 
 170 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 because it's painful to say because you may 
 believe it to be the outcome of self-interest." 
 
 "But she loves him, James," said her mother 
 weakly. 
 
 "My dear!" replied Mr. EUerton with a fine 
 smile, "we are not discussing the plot of a penny 
 novelette." 
 
 "I don't suppose I should marry into Park 
 Lane if I waited till I was grey," murmured the 
 fiancee. 
 
 "I don't suppose you would; but between Park 
 Lane and penury there are a great many grades. 
 I should have been satisfied to see you engaged 
 to a man with influence, who could give you the 
 chance in the profession that you deserve. You 
 would have been a celebrated woman then ; I am 
 
 sure of it! Now You may be happy now, 
 
 if domestic life can content you ; but I fear you'll 
 never be celebrated. You may go on struggling, 
 but you're handicapping yourself; instead of 
 marriage helping you forward, it will drag you 
 back. I've heard you express your own views 
 of marriages like this ; why have they changed all 
 of a sudden?" He regarded her with an air of 
 innocent surprise. "Why have they changed all 
 of a sudden?" he repeated. "And further, I am 
 sorry for Mr. Oliphant! For him, too, it's a 
 blunder. Marriage is the end of a man's youth.
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 171 
 
 By himself Mr. Oliphant might rise, but you 
 and your babies will be a weight that'll ruin him. 
 Don't I know what it is the strain of support- 
 ing a wife and family? Don't I know what it 
 is to be crippled for life by an early marriage? 
 My dear girl, the best woman becomes a burden 
 to a man!" The wife who was keeping him 
 winced, and her eyes filled. She did not speak, 
 however. "No, Blanche, since you really want 
 to know what I think, I think you are behaving 
 like a short-sighted child. The difference your 
 marriage will make to us is not vital I shall 
 have to write a little more, that is all but the 
 difference it will make to you, to say nothing of 
 him, I regret. Yes; I regret it." 
 
 "I thought you would," she said insolently. 
 "Well, I'm going to marry him! And you may 
 talk till you're tired and I shall marry him!" 
 
 There was a long silence in the room. Ger- 
 trude's attention reverted to the coat, which had 
 been tossed on to the sofa, and she wondered how 
 much it had cost, and mentally compared it with 
 some coats that had been "marked down" last 
 month at a local sale. Mr. Ellerton lit a pipe 
 with dignified deliberation, and the mother bent 
 her wet eyes on the fire, pitying everybody except 
 herself. She would have liked to feel the girl's 
 head in her lonely lap, and receive confidences
 
 172 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 and caresses, and plan the trousseau; but that 
 was how things happened in her novelettes at 
 which they all laughed. 
 
 "Won't you have some more tea, James?" she 
 said at last, with a nervous effort to sound at ease. 
 
 "No, thank you," replied the novelist, rising 
 with a heavy sigh; "no more. I'm afraid I 
 can't spare the time ; I must go back to the study, 
 my dear, and workl"
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 WHEN Royce, rehearsing Faust at the Pan- 
 theon, dwelt on the fact that only a year before 
 he had been reduced to sixpenny dinners, while 
 he awaited his first London "appearance" at a 
 salary of two pounds a week, he thought how 
 amazed he ought to feel at his progress. This is 
 as near to being amazed at our progress as we 
 ever get. 
 
 He had removed to rooms in Brunswick 
 Square, which is a better address than Burton 
 Crescent, and where he was on the whole less 
 comfortable, though he paid more rent. How- 
 ever, he did not propose to stay there long. Un- 
 less his Faust proved a failure and he received 
 his dismissal, Blanche and he might as well be 
 happy soon as late. The girl no longer demurred, 
 and it was arranged that they should marry early 
 in February soon after the play was produced. 
 
 The usual honeymoon would, of course, be 
 impossible, and they meant to have the ceremony 
 on a Saturday, and go by the eleven fifty-five 
 
 173
 
 174 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 train at night to Brighton, where they could 
 remain till Monday afternoon. 
 
 Mr. Ellerton had spared the young man the 
 arguments that he had wasted on the fiancee, 
 realising that since they had failed with his 
 daughter, it would be futile to repeat them to her 
 lover. Excepting that his air was rather gran- 
 diose indeed, Oliphant had found nothing to com- 
 plain of in his future father-in-law. Gertrude 
 was monosyllabic, and apparently characterless; 
 and Mrs. Ellerton he liked. It was with her that 
 he and Blanche discussed where they should live. 
 
 She considered that they would be very unwise 
 to take a house, even the cheapest; for though 
 they might expect to stay in town, who could say 
 but what they would both be on tour again to- 
 gether before long? desirous as they were of 
 playing in the same theatre, it was likely enough ! 
 Blanche inclined towards a small flat, but the 
 same objection applied to this; so they agreed 
 that, after all, the only plan was to make them- 
 selves comfortable in furnished apartments at 
 first. Furnished apartments where they would 
 put out their photographs and not have to pack 
 them up again at the end of a week, would really 
 be quite like home, she said. She privately de- 
 termined that they should not be at Earl's Court, 
 however. She meant, when she married, to begin
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 175 
 
 to form a circle of useful people, and she didn't 
 want her family dropping in on her at inoppor- 
 tune moments : father, who always referred to his 
 books, which nobody knew, and made one feel 
 so ashamed! and mother, with her ridiculous 
 novelettes in papers that no one had heard of 
 either! and Gertrude, who as soon as she learnt 
 that a man was expected, would always be fish- 
 ing for an invitation to come and play her fiddle I 
 Oh no, Earl's Court would be simply hateful! 
 It was a pity that a flat was out of the question 
 a flat somehow suggested a circle. But the 
 privilege of living on the fourth floor or in the 
 basement, and viewing a blank wall from every 
 window, was very expensive, and if they were 
 to be away eight or nine months of the year, the 
 establishment would certainly be a white ele- 
 phant. It would not do for Royce to assume 
 too heavy responsibilities; preserve her from 
 leaving one atmosphere of money worries for 
 another! she wanted a respite from hearing 
 about the bills. Besides, remembering their pro- 
 fession, nice apartments would look natural 
 enough. 
 
 The date on which the first performance of 
 Faust was to take place found Oliphant sick with 
 suspense. There was no rehearsal, and he went 
 out to the Ellertons' in the morning, and gath-
 
 176 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 ered encouragement from the mouth of his Be- 
 loved. Although, when he received the offer, he 
 had declared that he would tremble to know she 
 was present on the first night, he had since re- 
 canted. They were engaged, and so it was 
 different; it was essential that she should be 
 there! He had brought four dress-circle tickets 
 to the house a few days earlier, and this morning 
 Blanche gave him a bunch of violets from her 
 bodice for luck. 
 
 In a tumbler of water it stood all the evening 
 on his dressing-table among the sticks of grease- 
 paint; and after each act, when he came off the 
 stage, he touched it. And though her violets 
 were not responsible, he liked to think they had 
 had something to do with his success when he 
 read his notices on the morrow. For finally and 
 with certainty he had "arrived." He could not 
 have acknowledged it to Blanche though he 
 objected to perceive that he couldn't but in a 
 fervour of thanksgiving he dropped on his knees 
 among the newspapers and muttered to God. 
 
 The girl's felicitations were wholly sincere this 
 time he pertained to her now ; and had not per- 
 tained to her sufficiently long for her to begin to 
 say: "So much we are one and so much I am I, 
 and you are you!" 
 
 And it was with pride that she asked the
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 177 
 
 Editors of The Era and The Stage to insert 
 paragraphs announcing that Miss Blanche Eller- 
 ton, who had "created" the part of "Lady Maud 
 Elstree" in Mr. Royce Oliphant's drama The 
 Impostor, was engaged to be married to him. 
 Oliphant asked her why she did it, and she re- 
 plied: "Silly Billy, isn't it always a free adver- 
 tisement for us both?" 
 
 And it was two or three weeks after The 
 Speaker and The World had confirmed the pro- 
 nouncement of all the dailies, that he and she 
 went to Brighton by the eleven fifty-five. 
 
 The wedding had been the quietest possible. 
 For one thing the Ellertons could not afford an 
 expensive breakfast, and for another, neither the 
 bride nor the groom had many intimate friends. 
 So simple had it been that Royce even lacked a 
 best man ; the men whom he knew best were mar- 
 ried and ineligible for the post. As for Otho 
 Fairbairn, apart from the objection that to ask 
 him would be to ask for an expensive present, 
 he had been heard of only once full of a yacht 
 and vague projects since the night when he 
 came "behind" at the Dominion. After the serv- 
 ice there was cold chicken and a sort of cham- 
 pagne in the drawing-room; and maternal tears 
 and a literary speech. And then Royce went 
 away, leaving his wife with her family. He
 
 178 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 could not see her from the stage during the eve- 
 ning, but he knew she was up in the dress-circle 
 again ; and when the curtain fell she went round 
 to the stage-door and waited for him. And it 
 wasn't a hansom in which he drove with her 
 to Victoria, it was a celestial car, and the occu- 
 pants of the ordinary cabs in the Strand received 
 his compassion. Poor people who were not just 
 married! She was his wife, his wife, his wife! 
 This was the moment when both first realised it. 
 Emotion kept him voiceless, and while they sped 
 between the passing lights to the jingle of the 
 horse's bell, the girl herself asked nothing better 
 than to be allowed to dream. 
 
 It wasn't a celestial car in which he drove with 
 her from Victoria to their apartments when they 
 returned, it was a hansom; still they were both 
 very happy. They had decided upon Maddox 
 Street; and when they entered their drawing- 
 room the table was laid for five-o'clock dinner, 
 for which they were a little late. A few things 
 went wrong not quite so agreeable as the hotel ! 
 But that was natural; and the landlady and the 
 servant would soon fall into their ways. The 
 photographs, and a plant or two put about, would 
 give the room a homely air. And they would 
 have some cut flowers on the mantel-piece every 
 morning. With Bond Street on one side and
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 179 
 
 Regent Street on the other, it would be quite 
 easy to obtain a plentiful supply. 
 
 About half -past six her husband left for the 
 theatre, and then Blanche lay on the sofa before 
 the fire and mused. Her first reflection was that 
 they must buy a couple of cushions; and next 
 she perceived that if they hired an upright piano, 
 it would improve the aspect of the room very 
 much. A good piano, left open, always looked 
 well. She thought she would have a black one, 
 and get a gilt basket of red azaleas to stand care- 
 lessly on the top. 
 
 So she was married it was very wonderful! 
 He was a dear fellow. Would she ever be sorry? 
 . . . N-no. 
 
 Ah, she knew there was something she had 
 meant to do ! A cab accident that they witnessed 
 in the King's Road had suggested the idea. She 
 rang the bell, and borrowed a bottle of ink from 
 the landlady, and went into the bedroom and 
 unpacked her writing materials. While she was 
 in the bedroom, though, she might as well get 
 into her dressing-gown. When Royce came back 
 she would look nice lying on the sofa in her 
 dressing-gown. Its tint was pale blue, and she 
 had a pair of slippers to match it, embellished 
 with little paste buckles. When she had put on 
 the wrapper, and the slippers, she pulled all the
 
 180 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 pins from her hair, and shook it over her shoul- 
 ders, smiling in the glass at her folly. She did 
 indeed look very charming so; and she returned 
 to the drawing-room complacently. She drew 
 a chair to the table, and dipped her pen in the 
 ink, and meditated. . . . "An accident which 
 might have turned a joyful occasion into a 
 tragedy No, that wasn't good; and she 
 
 wanted to begin with her name the name always 
 stood out more then. "Miss Blanche Ellerton, 
 who was married on Saturday last to Mr. Royce 
 Oliphant, narrowly escaped having no honey- 
 moon She nibbled the penholder; "nar- 
 rowly escaped having no honeymoon" didn't 
 sound right was it, or wasn't it, what she meant? 
 An accident like the one that had occurred to 
 somebody else in Brighton might easily have 
 happened to her and him when they were driving 
 from the Pantheon on Saturday night she 
 might have been taken to a hospital instead of 
 to Brighton. "Miss Blanche Ellerton, who was 
 married on Saturday last to Mr. Royce Oli- 
 phant" what a pity she couldn't say at St. 
 Peter's, Eaton Square "had an experience 
 which fortunately does not fall to many brides. 
 As the newly-married pair were driving to the 
 station the horse fell down, and Pell 
 down? Should one say "fell down" or only
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 181 
 
 "fell"? Cross out the "down" anyhow! "The 
 horse fell, and Well, and what? It was 
 
 a beastly difficult thing to write a paragraph ! 
 
 She plunged her fingers into the unpinned 
 hair, and stared at her paper, with a frown. 
 
 She had only just completed the task when 
 Oliphant came in. 
 
 "Look!" she said triumphantly. 
 
 "I am looking," said he; "what a vision!" 
 
 "Oh," she murmured against his mouth, "that's 
 not what I meant; I meant what I've written! 
 I'm going to post it in the morning." 
 
 His expression was less proud when he had 
 read the paragraph. 
 
 "Do you do you think that's necessary?" he 
 said. "I can't say it's the sort of thing I believe 
 in! It's very questionable if they'll print it; 
 and if they do 
 
 "If they do, what?" 
 
 "The taste is questionable still." 
 
 "Why, Royce," she exclaimed with surprise, 
 "what do you mean? You know the value of a 
 paragraph surely? The more one can get, the 
 better; and poor me, I seldom get one!" 
 
 "But this isn't true. I hate lies even if they 
 don't hurt anybody." 
 
 " 'Lies' is a werry big word to use about it.
 
 182 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 And don't you ever say anything that isn't quite 
 true, milord?" 
 
 "I suppose I've told a good many 'polite' lies ; 
 I've never told one for my own advantage that 
 I remember." 
 
 She gave him a little kiss on the cheek, and 
 held up a finger laughingly. 
 
 "It's a good thing you have a business woman 
 to take care of you at last. Oh, Silly Billy ! Well, 
 what have you got to tell me? I suppose you 
 had a packed house as usual?" 
 
 She found the evenings dull during his absence, 
 and was eager for another engagement. Some- 
 times, however, she took a hansom up to the 
 Pantheon about eleven o'clock, and they went to 
 supper at a restaurant. This was jolly. They 
 seldom chose the same place twice, because the 
 restaurants were new to them both, and they 
 wished to gain experience. Royce took her to 
 Dolibo's first of all. It was his second visit there, 
 and when he had gone with Rayne, he and she 
 had never met. So they were bound to drink 
 champagne! And on subsequent evenings when 
 they went to supper, if they had not had cham- 
 pagne, the jaunt would have seemed rather a 
 falling-off. 
 
 The proximity of Bond Street provided them 
 with a very pleasant thoroughfare to stroll in on
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 183 
 
 fine afternoons. It did not cost two persons the 
 amount of Royce's salary to live, even with occa- 
 sional suppers in restaurants, and so they could 
 look at the shop-windows and buy hats. It was 
 not a solitary occurrence for them to disagree 
 as to which hat became her better; and when he 
 had yielded to her opinion, he begged her to yield 
 to his and she said that it was "simply prodigal" 
 of him, and that she wouldn't hear of such a 
 thing. But he came out victorious. They liked 
 to saunter through the Burlington Arcade also. 
 The early illumination of the windows there often 
 lured them in from the cold daylight of Picca- 
 dilly; and the gloves, and the garters, and the 
 notepaper were attractive trifles to a man with 
 a fascinating woman by his side. After all, they 
 were practically on their honeymoon, though they 
 were in town ; and a very cosy honeymoon it was. 
 Just as they had prophesied, the landlady "fell 
 into their ways" with the ready perception that 
 distinguishes the genus and the "extras" in 
 their bills were a sight to see. 
 
 When they had been in Maddox Street about 
 six weeks Blanche was offered an engagement at 
 the Sceptre. She was to receive eight pounds a 
 week. This did not seem so startling to her as it 
 would have done before Oliphant went to the 
 Pantheon, but she still counted it high terms, and
 
 184 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 she was very much elated. Royce was pleased 
 by the news because it pleased her, and it was 
 not until after she had come home with the part 
 folded in her muff that their first difference arose. 
 
 From a professional point of view it was an 
 extremely good part; from Oliphant's, it was a 
 very offensive one. She was to play a courtesan ; 
 and as courtesans in drama are much more bril- 
 liant than courtesans in life, she had to utter 
 several epigrams which he objected to his wife's 
 delivering. He tried to induce her to cancel the 
 engagement, and their argument grew heated. 
 
 "I never heard anything so ridiculous!" she 
 
 exclaimed; "it is simply philistine! I Really 
 
 I'm surprised at you! Cancel it? Why, my dear 
 boy, if I make a hit at the Sceptre, just look what 
 it means! One would think you were I don't 
 know what." 
 
 "I'm your husband," he replied; "that's what 
 I am. I respect you, darling; the greater the 
 hit you made, the worse I should feel." 
 
 "Thank you," she said indignantly. 
 
 "Don't misunderstand me on purpose. The 
 point is 
 
 "The point is that you're being philistine, 
 simply philistine!" 
 
 "Yes, you said that before. It's always you 
 who find me philistine I don't think I was
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 185 
 
 thought so by anyone else. Come, don't let's 
 wrangle, Blanche" he sat down on the couch, 
 and put his arm round her waist "you know 
 yourself it isn't a nice part; now, is it?" 
 
 "I don't think that's the way to look at it at 
 all; I didn't know you did look at things in that 
 way. I've heard you say that a dramatist should 
 be free to take any characters he pleased the 
 most abandoned. Haven't you?" 
 
 "I never said I wanted my wife to play them," 
 answered Oliphant doggedly. 
 
 "Oh!" She left his side, and walked about the 
 room. "You're not consistent. I'm an artist. 
 I don't recognise such rotten suburban distinc- 
 tions! I thought you were an actor, Royce. 
 Upon my word you make me gasp !" 
 
 "Put yourself in my place! Is it astonishing 
 that I should blush to know my wife was sneer- 
 ing at decency every evening to make a crowd 
 titter? I hope I am an actor, but I was a man 
 first." 
 
 "Oh, yes and you were going to be a parson 
 first! To hear you talk, I I almost think it's 
 a pity you changed your mind." 
 
 Oliphant did not reply for some seconds. The 
 colour had gone out of his face, and his eyes were 
 angry. 
 
 "As a matter of fact," he said in a sharp voice,
 
 186 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 "there is no question of my consistency here, for 
 the part has nothing to do with art." 
 
 "You know a great deal about the piece, don't 
 you," she retorted, "considering you didn't hear 
 it read?" 
 
 "I know what the man is capable of who wrote 
 it, and I know this character. 'Character'? 
 There's no character in it, only cheap cynicism. 
 'There is some soul of goodness in things evil'! 
 But what does this teach; what is it for? she 
 isn't a woman. She came out of a writing-table 
 to wear Paris frocks and amuse the stalls." 
 
 "Oh!" she cried; "'Teach'? Tor'? She's for 
 eight pounds a week and to get big notices! 
 Don't be a fool." 
 
 "Blanche!" 
 
 "Well, you shouldn't irritate me. I think it's 
 very cruel of you to make childish difficulties, 
 instead of being nice and congratulating me on 
 my good luck. I do, Royce" she whimpered a 
 little, and pressed her handkerchief to her eyes 
 "I think it's very cruel!" 
 
 "Blanche!" It was a different "Blanche" this 
 time. 
 
 "You you've disappointed me very much. I 
 came home so happy." 
 
 "Oh, dearest, don't say that that hurts." 
 
 "I thought we were one; I thought we entered
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 187 
 
 into each other's hopes so thoroughly," she fal- 
 tered behind the handkerchief. 
 
 "We do; we always shall," he said, trying to 
 take her hand. 
 
 "And this engagement you know what it 
 might mean to me?" 
 
 "But you might get another just as good. You 
 might 
 
 "No, I should be turning my back on fortune; 
 it would never come again or not for years. Do 
 good engagements keep knocking at one's door? 
 I didn't want to feel that our marriage was going 
 to hinder me in any, any way I didn't!" 
 
 She suffered him to capture the hand now, and 
 draw her to him; to dry her tears and bring a 
 smile to her pathetic lips by the assurance that he 
 "wouldn't say any more."
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 AND being a decidedly clever actress, she made 
 a success at the Sceptre. Her name became 
 familiar to London playgoers, who, knowing 
 nothing of the apprenticeship that she and her 
 husband had served in the provinces, while their 
 hearts grew sick with hope deferred, spoke as 
 playgoers do speak of Royce Oliphant and 
 Blanche Ellerton having "come out at the 
 Dominion last year." To the actor, who is so 
 fortunate as Oliphant only in exceptional cases, 
 and has often grown grey in his calling before 
 he obtains recognition in London, this phrase 
 "come out" has its humour. 
 
 The earliest days of June brought Royce his 
 first professional worry since his marriage. The 
 Impostor, which he fervently wished would sink 
 into oblivion, had been sent on tour again. Rayne 
 was now deriving a small profit from it, and there 
 were insignificant author's fees. One morning 
 when Oliphant received the Chester-le-Street 
 notices from the Press-cutting agency to which 
 
 188
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 189 
 
 he had subscribed, he was astonished to discover 
 that the last act of his play had been entirely 
 rewritten. He could scarcely believe his eyes. 
 
 "I won't stand itl" he cried, rising excitedly; 
 "the thing's monstrous; I'll have it stopped I 
 Rayne has turned The Impostor into a burlesque 
 he's holding me up to ridicule all over Eng- 
 land!" 
 
 "What do you mean?" asked Blanche. 
 "Turned it into a burlesque?" 
 
 "Look at this! He, or some other ass, has 
 written a new act. Clement is sent to Portland, 
 and escapes to France. And Maud and Mrs. 
 Vaughan fight a duel fight a duel! about him 
 with swords. They fight a duel two English 
 ladies ! here it is in print !" 
 
 "Why the man must be insane !" she exclaimed. 
 "Maud and Mrs. Vaughan fight a duel? You 
 should go and see him at once." 
 
 But Rayne was not visible; and being in a 
 theatre every evening for three hours, he thought 
 himself much too busy a man to answer a letter. 
 Then Oliphant sought Counsel's opinion, and 
 there was, of course, no doubt that he could 
 obtain an injunction. Theatrical advisers, how- 
 ever, pointed out that if he took the matter into 
 court, Rayne would probably declare that the 
 drama, as it left Mr. Oliphant's hands, had
 
 190 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 proved so disastrous that "there wasn't a man- 
 ager who would give it a date." The statement 
 might not be accurate, but it would be damaging. 
 And after all, the company was only visiting the 
 "smalls," where not more than two persons in 
 five hundred would observe who wrote the play, 
 or remember, if they observed. On the whole 
 he was recommended for various reasons to 
 submit to the outrage until Rayne's rights in the 
 property expired. 
 
 So the hero continued to escape to France, 
 and two English ladies continued to fight a duel 
 about him ; and those among the audience who 
 had the sense to laugh, continued to imagine that 
 the author whose name stood on the play-bill was 
 the ignoramus that they were entitled to laugh at. 
 
 "And at any rate," said Blanche, "if it plays 
 to better business with the alteration and I sup- 
 pose Rayne reckons it will you'll get bigger 
 fees; don't forget that!" 
 
 Royce looked at her without answering; and 
 though the subject burned within him, he never 
 mentioned it at home any more. 
 
 Four months of matrimony had been ample to 
 display the disparity of their points of view. 
 He had a pretty wife, and as she would be 
 judged in "the profession" a talented wife; but 
 he had no companion, and never would have one.
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 191 
 
 It was his own fault, he was quite aware of it. 
 He had made a mistake; but that it was a mis- 
 take for which he would have to suffer all his 
 life did not lessen the weight upon his mind as he 
 realised it. She was fond of describing herself 
 as an artist, and when they disagreed upon prac- 
 tical matters, she insisted also that she was a 
 business woman ; but to him she appeared a busi- 
 ness woman always, and an artist only when she 
 was behind the footlights. She was an actress, 
 he did not deny that and it was a puzzle to him 
 how she was able to project herself into a part 
 but her taste in dramatic literature was nil. She 
 cared no more about the quality of a play in 
 which she was engaged than did the scene- 
 painters. For a piece to "run" was everything 
 that she had imagined anybody could ask of it. 
 "Success" to her was the last word; and succes 
 d'estime was the French for failure. Money was 
 spent freely in the Maddox Street rooms, but he 
 never saw her spend a shilling on a book, and 
 rarely saw her read one. Their conversation 
 yielded nothing, was barren, dry as ashes in his 
 mouth. He could not talk to her as he wanted 
 to talk to someone, because the references, the 
 comparisons he made, had no significance to her, 
 and she found his attitude towards the theatre 
 wholly incomprehensible. They had at this
 
 192 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 period only two interests in common. One was 
 the removal they were about to make to a small 
 furnished flat in Victoria Street she wanted a 
 flat, and it was a more sensible arrangement than 
 living in lodgings and wasting half his salary 
 outside ; the other was the child that was expected 
 to be born to them at the end of November. 
 
 It may be thought that these meant a good 
 deal, but wherever their home might be, Oliphant 
 must live chiefly within himself; and as to the 
 child well, she had hurt him very much about 
 the child, and though he tried to forget it, the 
 pride of anticipation that he might have felt was 
 absent. She was now resigning herself to the 
 idea of becoming a mother; but he had known 
 nothing until she had suffered in secret, and made 
 herself ill; and when he reproached her, she had 
 turned from him, crying passionately that "This 
 would prevent her following up her Sceptre suc- 
 cess, and now she would be out of a shop all 
 through the autumn!" 
 
 Of her parents and sister he saw little. No 
 mother-in-law could have been less obtrusive than 
 was Mrs. Ellerton. Oliphant had gathered 
 enough of the family's circumstances to under- 
 stand that they must miss their daughter's help, 
 and he assumed that some of Blanche's eight 
 pounds went to Earl's Court every week. She
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 193 
 
 did not tell him that it was so, and he did not 
 inquire; nor, if he had been better versed in the 
 prices of West End dressmakers, would any 
 question have been necessary. 
 
 They moved into the flat on the 4th of June. 
 Blanche's engagement at the Sceptre would soon 
 terminate, but at the Pantheon Faust was run- 
 ning still. Next month the house would be 
 temporarily sub-let, while the annual tour was 
 made. Whether he would be offered a re-engage- 
 ment for Greatorex's next production, Oliphant 
 did not know; he only hoped. It was reported 
 that this was to be Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 The photographs and sofa-cushions had not 
 been transferred to Victoria Street quite a week 
 when he received a note at the theatre from Otho 
 Fairbairn, apologising for so long a silence, and 
 begging him to make an appointment. They 
 lunched together two days later, and Fairbairn 
 was found paler and older-looking than when 
 Royce had seen him last. He wrung the actor's 
 hand heartily, and said how delighted he had 
 been to discover the name "Oliphant" in the 
 Pantheon cast. 
 
 "I thought you might be acting in town, and 
 was going to read all the names 'under the clock' 
 on the chance. Lo, you were high in the list I 
 You've done well, Royce 1"
 
 194. THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 "Where have you been?" asked Oliphant. 
 
 "I'm a pig I've made fifty resolutions to 
 write to you ; but I I've been in a good deal of 
 trouble, old fellow; you must forgive me." 
 
 "I'm sorry to hear that! May I know is it 
 private?" 
 
 "Well, I was engaged to be married," said 
 Fairbairn, "and the lady changed her mind. I've 
 been in New York, you know she was an 
 American girl. I was very fond of her ; but she 
 discovered that she liked somebody else better. 
 It leaves one rather raw, that sort of thing." He 
 laughed drearily. "She didn't treat me well, but 
 my dollars weren't so startling on the other side 
 lots of the Americans have more it was a pity 
 the governor didn't live to buy a title! . . . 
 Never mind about me I want to hear about 
 yourself. What have you been doing?" 
 
 Oliphant hesitated. "Well," he said, "I I 
 have married." 
 
 "No? Is that a fact? My warmest congratu- 
 lations ! Married !" 
 
 "I married Miss Ellerton she played in my 
 piece at the Dominion. We're living in Victoria 
 Street. You must come and dine with us; or 
 lunch with us our dinner-hour would be rather 
 barbaric to you. We don't do things in style,
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 195 
 
 but we can give you an edible lunch there's a 
 restaurant downstairs, and they feed us." 
 
 "It must be devilish jolly," said the other. 
 "So you married an 
 
 "I married an actress, yes; and a very clever 
 actress." 
 
 "The wisest thing you could do, of course! A 
 wife in one's own profession must be ideal. When 
 was it?" 
 
 "We were married at the beginning of Febru- 
 ary. What day will you come? the sooner the 
 better." 
 
 Fairbairn was free to go the next afternoon, 
 and Blanche put on the frock that suited her best 
 for his subjugation. She had learnt the details 
 of his offer to back Royce in a theatre, and she 
 intended that he should develop into a constant 
 visitor now that he had returned to England. 
 
 He found his hostess informal and charming; 
 and Oliphant was in high spirits, perceiving that 
 she had made a good impression. Conversation 
 did not flag, and soon became frankly profes- 
 sional in tone; for Fairbairn was interested in 
 their prospects, and put a good many ques- 
 tions, and, although he now believed himself a 
 misogynist, there was a fascination to him, an 
 outsider, in hearing an actress chatter about the 
 stage. To Blanche it was even more novel te
 
 196 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 entertain a young man who possessed a splendid 
 income; and when he inadvertently said he must 
 have been "staying at Brookhill" at the date some* 
 comedy was produced, and she discovered that 
 he meant the place of a peer, she dared not look 
 at him lest she should betray the sensation that 
 the announcement had caused her. 
 
 He took leave of her with the consciousness 
 of having spent three hours as agreeable as mis- 
 ogyny permitted, and his assurance that he would 
 drop in upon them often was no less sincere than 
 the lady's petition that he would do so. She 
 regarded Royce respectfully for being the friend 
 of "such a swell" ; and when they received a note 
 in which Fairbairn trusted that it wasn't too late 
 to send a wedding present, and they found that 
 the present was silver suitable for a prince's 
 dinner-party, her "lively sense of favours to 
 come" knew literally no bounds. 
 
 "How much money does one need to take a 
 theatre?" she inquired eagerly. "Do you think 
 he would be just as ready to do it as he was? 
 Well, do you think he will be just as ready when 
 you want him to? people's ideas change. Why 
 shouldn't you ask him now why not make use 
 of him while he's here?" 
 
 "We're not well enough known," said Royce. 
 "We don't want to have a theatre for three
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 197 
 
 months I want to open it, and keep it open. 
 Besides, it wouldn't be a fair proposal in our 
 present position." 
 
 "He has lots to lose," she argued; "it wouldn't 
 hurt him if it were a frost. Which house should 
 we take? Perhaps perhaps he'd build you a 
 theatre! You're very stupid to take it so easy, 
 my boy when you want him, he may have cooled 
 off. And he may marry men are such mugs I 
 daresay he'll go and marry and want all his 
 money for his wife. You may be sure there are 
 heaps of women trying for him he'll fall in love 
 directly." 
 
 "He was engaged in New York. The girl 
 broke it off." 
 
 "Broke it off? The^VZdid?" 
 
 "So he told me." 
 
 "Good Lord ! Heaven was kind to us to make 
 her such a fool!" 
 
 "Don't!" said Royce; "I think he's cut up 
 about it." 
 
 She lifted her eyebrows protestingly. "I hope 
 he understands we are genuine," she said, "and 
 won't be afraid of taking us by surprise. If he 
 doesn't call soon, you must fix a day or I shall. 
 I want him to be very much at home in this flat, 
 I can tell you; he means our future!" 
 
 This was all very distasteful to Oliphant; it
 
 198 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 jarred upon him terribly, but to say so would 
 entail another altercation. He held his peace, 
 and let the subject drop. The woman's ardour 
 was chilled by the coldness of its reception. She 
 reflected that he was not companionable. How 
 different he had been before he got her! She 
 might have done better for herself even if Fair- 
 bairn did start them in a theatre ! And momen- 
 tarily she felt that he never would Royce was 
 so impossible! Now how nice the hour would 
 have been if he had been sympathetic, and could 
 have shared her enthusiasm, and made plans with 
 her for their advancement! That would have 
 been marriage. She could understand that in a 
 marriage like that a girl might be happy although 
 she was not rich. Royce was only enthusiastic 
 about matters that didn't concern him; what 
 affair was it of his whether a play was "litera- 
 ture," or whether it wasn't, if the parts were 
 good, and it caught on? He was a dreamer. 
 His ideals were very fine, she supposed ; but high 
 ideals were a dreadful strain to live with. She 
 did not ridicule his theories she knew that many 
 dreary subjects were deep and admirable but 
 the proper place for them was Exeter Hall, or 
 the Birkbeck Institute, or somewhere; she could 
 not pretend to want them rammed down her 
 throat with her meals. If he felt aggrieved, she
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 199 
 
 couldn't help it she had not yawned often, and 
 he had bored her to death. No, Royce was un- 
 practical a crank. He was he was She 
 tapped her foot restlessly, and shook her head 
 to herself behind The Era. She had blundered 
 with the wrong man ! 
 
 The following day, however, she had another 
 triumph. A fancy fair was being held at the 
 Botanical Gardens for the benefit of The 
 visitors were not quite certain what it was to 
 benefit ; but a number of more or less prominent 
 actresses had given their services, and a large 
 contingent of the gilded youth sped to Regent's 
 Park from Clubland, curious to see Miss this and 
 Miss the other off the stage. There were several 
 Society women too, being charitable in elaborate 
 toilettes, and it was possible for quite inferior 
 young men to acquire a chance to win a tea-cosy, 
 or buy a baby's comforter from a lady who had 
 a title. 
 
 Blanche was assisting at the Burmah Stall, 
 captivating in a frock which Oliphant mentally 
 described as "a shower of lace without a figure." 
 When he j oined her there, he found her radiant. 
 
 "Oh," she exclaimed, "I've been talking to 
 Lady Fleck, and she wants to be introduced to 
 you ! They say she knows everybody in the pro- 
 fession the authors and critics and everyone.
 
 200 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 She's ever so gone on you says you're the com- 
 ing man, and I don't know what. There she is! 
 Come over now." 
 
 Lady Fleck was emerging from a group upon 
 the lawn, smiling vaguely. As she saw Oliphant 
 and Blanche approaching, her smile gained ex- 
 pectation. She was not pretty and she was not 
 young, but actors and authors and musicians 
 found her charming she liked them so much. 
 She gave Sunday luncheon parties, which she 
 called "bohemian," and which sometimes cost two 
 hundred pounds. 
 
 "I'm so delighted to meet you, Mr. Oliphant," 
 she said; "I've been telling your wife how I've 
 looked forward to knowing you both. Such an 
 interesting couple I've always thought you so 
 romantic!" 
 
 The last word completed his embarrassment; 
 it was his earliest experience of social adulation. 
 Blanche covered his awkwardness by the playful 
 assumption of a shyness that she did not feel. 
 
 "Oh, don't say that, Lady Fleck," she cried, 
 hiding her face affectedly; "you'll make us so 
 vain of each other!" 
 
 "But I must say it," declared Lady Fleck; 
 "such an interesting couple! Oh, your Faust, Mr. 
 Oliphant! it impressed me so deeply. You re- 
 vealed Faust to me. How you must have
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 201 
 
 thought" she half closed her eyes to convey 
 thought "how you must have lived in the char- 
 acter to portray it as you do!" 
 
 "I'm glad it pleased you," he murmured. 
 
 "Of course I'm an enthusiast about the Stage, 
 I confess it ! My passion is the Theatre. When 
 I see a performance like yours, I want to thank 
 the actor I want to go to him to tell him what 
 I owe him for the intellectual and emotional treat 
 he has given me!" 
 
 He contrived a response with great labour. 
 She discovered it to be "so original, so sugges- 
 tive." Blanche felt rather in the way, but hesi- 
 tated to make an excuse and vanish, not knowing 
 whether a lady in Society would consider it tact- 
 ful or rude. She was relieved when they were 
 interrupted. Lady Fleck pressed them to go 
 to see her, and repeated her "day" twice, with 
 much warmth. 
 
 In the bedroom that night Royce was entreated 
 to realise the responsibility that rested on him. 
 
 "You must make the most of this chance," 
 insisted the girl; "say things when we go! If 
 she takes us up, we shall meet no end of people. 
 And gaze at her as if you thought she was good- 
 looking that's more important than all; she 
 knows already you're clever. I know what 
 women are you're the draw with Lady Fleck,
 
 202 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 because you're a man. It wouldn't hurt" she 
 raised her bare foot contemplatively and admired 
 it, as she always did when she undressed "it 
 wouldn't hurt if you make up to her a little. Not 
 ridiculously, because her husband mightn't like 
 it, and then we shouldn't be asked any more ; but 
 plain women are so easily flattered, dear boy 
 Gertrude smirked in the Zoo when a monkey 
 looked after her you needn't go far. ... Do 
 baronets' wives know duchesses?"
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 IF their marriage had sprung from love instead 
 of from infatuation even if one of them had ever 
 truly loved the other their life would have been 
 very enviable. The child was born early in De- 
 cember, and at the end of February Blanche was 
 fulfilling another engagement in town, and at the 
 Pantheon Oliphant had won approval as Mer- 
 cutio. They were young, the man had had great 
 luck, and they were in a profession which pays 
 the fortunate lavishly while making small de- 
 mand upon their time. It is true that every day 
 Oliphant studied shutting himself in a room 
 and striving to attain the control over the muscles 
 of his face that a musician seeks over his instru- 
 ment ; taking his voice note by note, and practis- 
 ing with it as a singer practises his scales but 
 this was only in the morning, and by no means 
 during the entire morning. He did not work 
 for hours at a stretch as do authors, painters, civil 
 engineers, city clerks, and other men. He was 
 free to go out with his wife whenever she wished 
 
 203
 
 204 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 him to do so ; and although she had met far fewer 
 titles at Lady Fleck's than she had expected, 
 there were, by the summer, several "Tuesdays" 
 and "Thursdays' 5 on which she claimed his com- 
 pany. 
 
 She did not disguise that she was very am- 
 bitious of extending their circle of people worth 
 knowing; by "people worth knowing" she already 
 meant people in Society. Scheming to extend it, 
 she never missed an opportunity of being agree- 
 able to her own sex ; men only paid compliments, 
 she realised it was to women she must look for 
 the magic words "I shall be so pleased if you'll 
 come and see me." From this cause she accepted 
 the former's attentions with such composure that 
 she was pronounced by masculine admirers to 
 be "a bit cold, don't you know," and gained 
 among women to whom she listened with an air 
 of enchained interest the reputation of being 
 devoted to her husband. To a "romantic couple" 
 in the most popular profession an invitation to 
 one house led to the drawing-room of another 
 if tact and patience were employed. 
 
 Otho Fairbairn also had his social uses, though 
 as a bachelor they were limited. He had not 
 become quite the constant visitor that Blanche 
 had hoped to see him; still he would drop in upon 
 them sometimes at odd hours now, and she had
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 205 
 
 made herself very sympathetic in a tete-a-tete 
 once on the subject of his misogyny. Otho had 
 found it a pleasant matter to discuss with her. 
 She had assured him that he was only temporarily 
 embittered, and prophesied that some day he 
 would come across a pretty girl who would com- 
 pletely change his views. He denied the possi- 
 bility. Between his heart and him the Atlantic 
 rolled. Nevertheless the conversation had a 
 charm, and he was more than ever of the opinion 
 that Royce had married a very nice woman. 
 
 The year for which the flat had been obtained 
 had expired, and Oliphant and she had just taken 
 one a shade more commodious, on the same side 
 of the street. Since the advent of the baby and 
 a nurse their recent quarters had been rather 
 inconvenient. Now that the child was here, and 
 could be brought to her arms in white embroidery, 
 and carried away if he cried obstreperously, 
 Blanche showed an interest in the little being 
 even in moments displayed tenderness for him. 
 He had been christened Hugh, the name that 
 had been Royce's father's. Oliphant, still half- 
 frightened of breaking him if he picked him up, 
 loved to sit and look at the mite. He did not 
 remember looking at a baby before, and the help- 
 lessness of this tiny thing that was his son awoke 
 extraordinary emotions in him. If Blanche's
 
 206 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 tenderness had not been capricious, if her interest 
 in the undesired child had been more than a 
 liking, there would now have been a firm link 
 between him and her. 
 
 Excepting during the few weeks in the pre- 
 vious autumn when he had toured with the Pan- 
 theon company, they had not been separated 
 since their wedding. They had, however, never 
 played on the same stage since then. Each had 
 a nightly world apart from the other. The fact 
 to a well-mated pair might have furnished food 
 for cheerful chatter across the supper-table, but 
 only to a pair very happily mated indeed. Gossip 
 about those who are strangers to the listener is 
 rarely amusing, and it sounds dull to the one 
 who gossips also. The listener generally says 
 the wrong thing, and the anecdote falls flat. Oli- 
 phant and his wife rarely touched upon the inci- 
 dents of the evening to each other. 
 
 While Royce remained at the Pantheon there 
 was no prospect of a joint engagement. Even 
 when he was wanted for a matinee at the Mirror, 
 he knew nothing about it until the women's parts 
 were cast. Blanche had asked him to ascertain 
 if there was a chance for her there, and he re- 
 turned with the news that all the arrangements 
 were made.
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 207 
 
 "How about you?" she inquired. "Has 
 Greatorex given you permission?" 
 
 "Yes, that's all right. I spoke to him last 
 night. What are those the proofs of your like- 
 nesses? Let me look." 
 
 She gave them to him one by one, scrutinising 
 them herself across his shoulder. She had a 
 passion for having her likeness taken, and, not 
 having arrived at the position where photogra- 
 phers wrote offering sittings for nothing, she 
 spent a good deal of money upon it, although, of 
 course, she obtained the "professional reduction." 
 There were here various presentments of her: 
 she stood triumphant, showing her bosom and her 
 teeth; she sat thinking high thoughts, with her 
 cheek upon her hand ; she had her face in profile 
 and her hands behind her back; and her hands 
 full of flowers and her face bent. She laughed; 
 she mused; she yearned she was beautiful in 
 all of them; and her husband's paramount reflec- 
 tion was how little they resembled her. 
 
 "Which do you think is best?" she said. 
 
 "They're all exquisite ; I don't know. Perhaps 
 this . . . but it's so difficult to say." 
 
 "The 'soulful' one I think I like that best 
 myself. You know it ought to sell, that I do 
 want an agent who would push me on; I wish 
 I could get hold of Bernstein! What do I look
 
 208 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 as if I'm thinking about?" She held the photo- 
 graph out, and viewed it critically. "Now sup- 
 pose you'd never spoken to me suppose you 
 were somebody else and saw it in the shop- 
 windows what would you think I was like?" 
 
 "My dear girl," said Oliphant, checking a sigh, 
 "I can't imagine!" 
 
 "Well, you'd be curious to know me, wouldn't 
 you? It would stand out among the other 
 women's? Wouldn't it isn't it uncommon? 
 What do you say? Or do you think there's too 
 much shadow about it? What does it suggest 
 what kind of girl? I meant to look all aspiration 
 and religion in this; very Bible-y! as if my eyes 
 were fixed on Heaven. You know w T hat I mean. 
 I think I shall have a dozen of this, and a dozen 
 of the one in the low-neck, and ... I don't 
 know that any of them are really very good I 
 don't look my best. The one with the hat on 
 is a perfect beast! . . . No, he must give me 
 another sitting. Don't tell 'em at home I'm 
 having any done I want to save them for par- 
 ticular people." 
 
 "Where's Baby?" asked Oliphant. "Is he out 
 still?" 
 
 "No, it's in the nursery," she said, disposing 
 the mounted proofs in a line along the mantel- 
 piece; "do you want it in?"
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 209 
 
 "I may as well go to him, if he's awake." 
 "It was awake just now I heard it crying." 
 "Well, I'll go and say 'How d'ye do' to him 
 in his own domain." 
 
 The nurse said she had "never seen a gentle- 
 man take such notice of his baby as Mr. Oli- 
 phant." He inquired if the eyes were likely to 
 remain that glorious blue; was despondent when 
 he heard that " 'most every baby was born with 
 blue eyes"; and knew restored hope when she 
 added that, "as Madam's eyes was blue, there was 
 no saying but what they might." It pleased him 
 to imagine that the infant looked at him with 
 a different expression from that awakened by 
 others; and because he felt embarrassed under 
 the nurse's surveillance, he was always glad when 
 she withdrew, leaving him at liberty to behave 
 as ridiculously as he pleased. How he wished 
 that "Hugh" could talk already, and that he 
 could take him out, holding his warm little hand, 
 and dazzle him with toys! How funny and jolly 
 it would be! ... And unless he had all his own 
 feeling for the art, he should never be an actor. 
 Oh no! he should be a doctor, or go to the Bar. 
 And he shouldn't take a wife until he was quite, 
 quite sure. Poor little Hugh the nurse had 
 withdrawn, and he touched the baby's face with 
 his own. If only his father could have lived to
 
 210 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 see Hugh ! . . . He wondered if he knew about 
 him now. It was an awful thing, poor little 
 Hugh, to choose the wrong girl. O God, grant 
 that the child would find nothing lacking in 
 Blanche! how piteous if he couldn't love her, 
 either ! 
 
 The matinee for which Oliphant's services had 
 been sought was designed to introduce the first 
 dramatic experiment of a novelist of the intro- 
 spective school. For a reason that was not 
 known he awaited the verdict on his earliest play 
 with deep anxiety. When he had married, a year 
 or two before, his mother had been very indig- 
 nant. Some mothers do consider matrimony the 
 one unpardonable offence that their sons can 
 commit. The indignation of the novelist's 
 mother, however, had placed him in a peculiar 
 predicament; the first time after his marriage 
 that he drew an unlovable woman, she called on 
 all their friends, and said that "Arthur had dis- 
 covered his wife's real character at last!" And 
 when, in his next book, he drew the failings of 
 a totally different woman, she exclaimed that 
 "poor Arthur was finding out more about his 
 wife every day!" As a consequence he was terri- 
 fied to describe any woman who wasn't a born 
 angel, and his career in fiction seemed over.
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 He read a play as badly as most novices, and 
 resembled dramatists more eminent by cherishing 
 the delusion that few persons read one so well. 
 Oliphant received his part the day before the 
 reading was to take place, and to a cursory 
 perusal it looked promising : some of the speeches 
 a little long perhaps; here and there a line that 
 "didn't speak" awkward when one came to 
 utter it; but the man seemed alive, he evidently 
 meant something. To an admirer of the author's 
 novels the production of the drama was an inter- 
 esting experiment. 
 
 Arthur Mundey was on the stage, and made 
 himself known, when Oliphant reached the 
 Mirror. He said he was glad that it had proved 
 possible to obtain Mr. Oliphant for the pro- 
 tagonist, and the actor was gratified. Whatever 
 significance the public might attach to the 
 matinee, it was to the organisers decidedly im- 
 portant the outcome of a movement with which 
 he was in cordial sympathy. The company had 
 not all arrived, and as he lounged under the 
 T-piece his gaze met a face that was familiar, 
 though he did not instantaneously remember how 
 he knew it. The woman, who was seated in the 
 prompt-entrance, had been looking towards him 
 at the same moment, and he saw in her eyes the 
 diffident expression of one who waits to be recog*
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 nised. Now, her identity flashed upon him, and 
 he went to her quickly. But her name escaped 
 him still; so extending his hand, and in a tone 
 of pleasure that was not feigned, he exclaimed : 
 
 "How d'ye do? We meet again at last!" 
 
 She rose, with a murmured greeting. "You 
 didn't expect to find me here, Mr. Oliphant?" 
 
 "Indeed, no; I I didn't know who was in it 
 at all. Have you been back from South Africa 
 long?" 
 
 "I came back in January," she said. "I saw 
 you looking across I wondered if you'd remem- 
 ber me." 
 
 "Of course I do!" The name touched his 
 tongue. "I'm very glad to see you again, Miss 
 King. What are you playing is it any good?" 
 
 ' 'Patience Banfield,' " she said; "it's a small 
 character-part. You you have fulfilled my 
 prophecy, Mr. Oliphant may I congratulate 
 you? I was at the Pantheon last night." 
 
 Her manner was graver than it had been, he 
 fancied. He recalled a girl, and here she was a 
 woman. How long ago was it? Two years- 
 two years and a half. No time! But what a 
 change it had made in his position! Pathetic, as 
 he stood before her, that she had not risen too. 
 He paused with a little embarrassment. The 
 questions that he would have asked were impos-
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 213 
 
 sible, but he felt that he was appearing formal, 
 even that the situation imparted to him, against 
 his will, an air of patronage. He was distinctly 
 relieved when Mundey sat down at the table, 
 and they had to listen to the play. 
 
 It disappointed him; yet how clever it was! 
 though half its cleverness was missed by the 
 assembly to whom it was read. It was a novel 
 in dialogue. It would have been admirable under 
 the library lamp, but the flare of the footlights 
 would kill it. It was delicate, subtle, undramatic 
 it was the scenery painted by an Impressionist. 
 A great regret possessed him as the reading went 
 on, Mundey perspiring and growing hoarse. He 
 felt the pity of it that a fine talent should be 
 frustrated by an unskilful hand. He glanced 
 round as much of the semi-circle as was within 
 his view the listless heads, the disposal of the 
 limbs, signified nothing but weariness. Yes ! one 
 face spoke the emotion that stirred himself one 
 woman understood: Miss King was thinking his 
 own thoughts. 
 
 He spoke to her again as she was hastening 
 up the steps, after a few insincere compliments 
 had been made upon the work. She had bowed, 
 and vanished, but he had overtaken her. That 
 she should leave without saying good-after- 
 noon, without approaching him, revived the
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 mental discomfort he had experienced. Circum- 
 stances had once flung them into an intimate, 
 if short-lived, friendship, and though in the 
 interval he had forgotten all about her, it hurt 
 him to see that she felt they no longer met upon 
 terms of equality. He was a leading man, and 
 she remained an obscure actress: so she did not 
 speak to him unless she was addressed ! He could 
 not bear that it distressed him. 
 
 "You're not going to run away before we've 
 said ten words to each other, are you?" he asked. 
 "How do you like the play?" 
 
 "I ' she hesitated. "I should like very 
 much to read it quietly by myself. Do you think 
 it will succeed, Mr. Oliphant?" 
 
 "I think my opinion of it's the same as your 
 own." 
 
 "The same as my own?" 
 
 "Yes; I saw you while it was being read." 
 
 She looked surprised, and a little dismayed; 
 "I hope Mundey didn't see!" 
 
 "You needn't be alarmed! But shall I tell 
 you what you thought? You thought what a 
 good novel it would have made." 
 
 "That's true," she acknowledged; "I did." 
 They were at the corner of the street, and she 
 stopped.
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 215 
 
 "Am I in the way?" inquired Oliphant. "Do 
 you want me to say good-bye?" 
 
 "Not if we're going the same road; I go 
 through Drury Lane." 
 
 "So do I, if you'll let me. But it isn't about 
 the play I want to talk to you; I want to hear 
 about yourself. I thought perhaps you'd have 
 written to me after you went to the Cape, to tell 
 me how you got on. Why didn't you?" 
 
 "I didn't like to," she said. "Did it look 
 ungrateful?" 
 
 ; 'Ungrateful'? What on earth had you to 
 be grateful for? No; but I should have been 
 pleased to hear! When did you say you came 
 back in January?" 
 
 "I've been back six months. It was a very 
 good engagement, in a sense it lasted much 
 longer than I had expected ; I was out there two 
 years. I didn't look forward to staying anything 
 like that time. I played in Cape Town and Kim- 
 berley and Johannesburg, and became quite an 
 Afrikander." 
 
 "Was it pleasant?" 
 
 "I don't like the country. The Colony and 
 Johannesburg aren't so bad, but Kimberley is 
 loathsome. It's none of it very agreeable, though, 
 after the novelty wears off; and, oh, how dear! 
 One's salary goes nowhere! After we left Cape
 
 216 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 Town I used to pay a shilling for The Stage 
 when I bought it." 
 
 "I suppose that wasn't often?" 
 
 She laughed. "There were weeks when I 
 missed it, if nobody had had a copy from home 
 to lend me." 
 
 "And since you have been back?" 
 
 "I've been on tour with A Lilac Chain not 
 much of a company, of course! That's what I 
 meant when I said it was a good engagement 'in 
 a sense' : the Cape doesn't lead to anything I'm 
 just where I was when I went away. You've 
 been marvellously fortunate, Mr. Oliphant, if I 
 may say so." 
 
 "Oh, please don't say 'if you may say' ! why 
 shouldn't you? Of course I've been fortunate. 
 Luck's everything. It was The Impostor that 
 gave me my opportunity, you know; Rayne had 
 an accident, and I got the chance to play lead 
 in town by accident. But for that I daresay I 
 shouldn't be any better off than when we last 
 met. I suppose you saw that The Impostor was 
 produced soon after you left England?" 
 
 "Yes, that was one of the weeks when I did 
 see a paper I was so glad! You mustn't say 
 luck is everything, though. Luck gave you your 
 chance, but you had the talent to make use of 
 it. I never thought, when you told me the plot
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 217 
 
 of your drama that evening, that I should be 
 reading a criticism of it in Cape Town two or 
 three months later it seemed so funny! That 
 was when I was really tempted to write to you; 
 but oh, I don't know I I hadn't done it when 
 I arrived; and so to write to you when you had 
 a success looked as if it would be rather mean. 
 I thought so, anyhow. Oh, there's one thing I 
 want to say it isn't of engrossing interest, but 
 I should like you to know: I sent the woman in 
 Alfred Place her money!" 
 
 "She deserved never to get it," said Oliphant; 
 "but of course you did! Yes, I hoped for a 
 line from you; and Mrs. er Tubbs oh, Mrs. 
 Tubbs mourned for you! You've no idea what 
 an impression you made on Mrs. Tubbs. She 
 used to talk about you daily." 
 
 "I know," said Miss King; "so she tells me. 
 I'm staying with her now." 
 
 Oliphant wheeled round incredulously. 
 
 "Really? Do you mean it? She's there still, 
 and you're staying with her?" 
 
 "I had to stay somewhere, and I thought of 
 her at once. In point of fact," she added medita- 
 tively, "I don't fancy Mrs. Tubbs is quite so 
 cheap as she was. But she's just as nice." 
 
 "How odd it seems," he said. "And is the 
 furniture still blue? And is she still garrulous
 
 218 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 about the niece who was in the 'prerf ession' ? Did 
 she mention me? She hadn't been to the Pan- 
 theon, I suppose?" 
 
 "She hadn't been yet no; but she mentioned 
 you the evening I arrived." 
 
 "I believe Mrs. Tubbs always took an interest 
 in me," he said warmly. "I hope she wasn't 
 hurt that I hadn't sent her seats? To tell you 
 the truth, I never thought about it." 
 
 "I don't think she was; indeed, I'm sure she 
 wasn't." 
 
 "What did she say?" 
 
 "I could tell she wasn't hurt." 
 
 "She must have said something?" he smiled. 
 
 "Well," replied Miss King with a glimmer of 
 amusement in her eyes, "she said she hadn't heard 
 of you since you left her and she hoped you were 
 alive." 
 
 Their gaze met, and laughter broke from them 
 both. "Thank you," exclaimed Oliphant, "I 
 deserved it! But this is Fame! I am Mercutio 
 in capital letters on the Pantheon bills, and my 
 old landlady doesn't know it till you come from 
 South Africa to tell her." It occurred to him 
 to wonder if Miss King had heard of his mar- 
 riage. "You haven't congratulated me," he said. 
 
 "Oh, I have!" she replied; "in the theatre 
 the first thing."
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 219 
 
 "I mean about something else. I'm married 
 now." 
 
 "Married?" she echoed. "Are you? ... I 
 don't know why it should be astonishing, 
 but- 
 
 "It's perfectly true." 
 
 "Oh, I congratulate you ever so much, of 
 course. I knew nothing about it. I don't meet 
 many people I'm like Mrs. Tubbs, you see. Is 
 your wife on the stage?" 
 
 "Yes, I married Miss Blanche Ellerton. We 
 we've been married nearly eighteen months. I'm 
 a husband and father; don't I look more impor- 
 tant?" 
 
 "I attributed it to other causes," she laughed; 
 "now it's explained!" 
 
 They had reached New Oxford Street, and she 
 paused again, and extended her hand. 
 
 "I'm sure I've taken you miles out of your 
 way," she said. "By the bye, what time is the 
 call to-morrow, did you notice?" 
 
 "Twelve o'clock. Isn't it tea-time, and 
 mightn't we go and have some tea?" 
 
 "Oh no, thanks," she said, "I want to get 
 home." 
 
 "Or chocolate? I can recommend the choco- 
 late. We've only to cross the road." 
 
 "I'd rather not, thank you ; Mrs. Tubbs would
 
 220 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 be so wounded if I didn't want anything when 
 I got in!" 
 
 "Answer me one question," he exclaimed; "do 
 you have tea in the drawing-room, or the dining- 
 room?" 
 
 "The drawing-room," said she gaily; "the blue 
 drawing-room. Good-afternoon, Mr. Oliphant." 
 
 "Good-afternoon, Miss King." 
 
 He retraced his steps to the Strand, and 
 mentally followed hers. "The drawing-room" 
 how vividly he saw it ! and the brown tea-pot 
 on the dilapidated tray hidden by a soiled table- 
 napkin; the battered cover over the toast. It 
 had been pleasant! after all it had been pleas- 
 ant! He was happy then, only he didn't know 
 it ... happier than now.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 WHEN the dramatic critics say that a part is 
 unworthy of an actor's abilities, the author may 
 not be gratified, but it means that the actor's 
 spurs are securely fixed. Excepting Oliphant, 
 who gained a little kudos, it is doubtful if Mun- 
 dey's drama advanced any one professionally. 
 Oliphant wondered if it would do Miss King any 
 good. He was glad to see that several of the 
 papers mentioned her favourably, though her 
 performance did not receive the notices that he 
 considered it deserved. During the fortnight's 
 rehearsals he had had several conversations with 
 her on the stage, and it would have pleased him 
 very much indeed if the little part of "Patience 
 Banfield" had proved a stepping-stone to higher 
 things. 
 
 He had watched her rehearsals with a curiosity 
 that she did not divine he was prepared to be 
 disappointed, to find her execution fall short of 
 her conceptions; but at least she had not fallen 
 short of his. She was artistic to the finger-tips, 
 
 221
 
 222 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 and her voice was delicious; he could not say 
 what she would do with such characters as she 
 aspired to play, but he was persuaded that, given 
 the opportunity, she would at all events get on. 
 
 Apparently no opportunity presented itself, 
 for when he met her in Wellington Street one 
 day about a month after the piece had been pro- 
 duced, she told him that she was "going out" with 
 A Lilac Chain again. 
 
 He had not known how much he had hoped 
 for her until he heard it; indeed, he was more 
 disappointed than she; in her, expectation had 
 long grown faint. 
 
 "I wish," he remarked to Blanche, "I could 
 have done something to help Miss King." 
 
 "Why?" she said. 
 
 "I like her, and she's clever. I'd have been 
 very glad to do her a service." 
 
 "I didn't think much of her at the Mirror. 
 What have you seen her play in besides Mundey's 
 thing?" 
 
 "Nothing else. But she was admirable in that ; 
 you must remember there was no scope for big 
 effects." 
 
 "I thought you were in the provinces with her 
 once. How did you know her then?" 
 
 "I knew her in London," he answered; "we 
 stayed in the same lodgings for a week or two."
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 223 
 
 Blanche yawned, and he was relieved that she 
 did not pursue the subject. It would hardly be 
 fair, he thought, to explain the circumstances 
 that had led to their being in the same lodgings. 
 It was a story that might be misconstrued, espe- 
 cially by a woman like his wife. 
 
 Yes, he was sorry he had no influence to assist 
 Miss King. He did like her. He wished, for her 
 sake, that she were settled in town; and for his 
 own, he wished that she and Blanche were friends. 
 She would have been a visitor who interested him. 
 It would have been an agreeable, a stimulating 
 afternoon, when she called it would have taken 
 him out of himself for an hour; or, more pre- 
 cisely, he could have been himself. Then the 
 momentary reflection caused him to perceive how 
 improbable it was that Blanche and she would 
 attract each other; they were so unlike he did 
 not think two women could be more dissimilar. 
 Everything in Blanche that jarred upon him 
 would jar upon Miss King. . . . Yes, that was 
 a fact! It hadn't occurred to him before, but 
 but it was true. 
 
 Greatorex was about to begin his customary 
 tour, and on his return to the Pantheon the 
 revival of Romeo and Juliet would be resumed. 
 Enormously successful as this had been, though, 
 it could not continue much longer, and Oliphant
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 was again constrained to wonder if his engage- 
 ment was drawing to a close. For Mercutio, as 
 for Faust, he had been engaged only for the "run 
 of the piece." If he were offered a second re- 
 engagement, he might reasonably expect to 
 obtain a second increase of terms, but as he and 
 Blanche were already living quite as luxuriously 
 as he desired, he wasn't eager for a higher salary ; 
 he was inclined to wish that he had had a three- 
 years contract for a fixed sum, so that he could 
 have felt calmly confident of remaining at the 
 house until a distant date. 
 
 Blanche did not accompany her husband on 
 tour. Last summer she had not been well enough 
 to do so, and now to undertake a railway j ourney 
 every week with a baby and a nurse would have 
 been absurd. She had talked of taking them to 
 Eastbourne during his absence, for she could not 
 look forward to acting again until theatrical 
 London woke to activity in the autumn. 
 
 This year the company's "dates" included 
 Brighton. It was the last place they visited, and 
 they arrived after the August heat had subsided 
 and the season had begun. As the cab rattled 
 Oliphant past a hoarding on the way to his apart- 
 ments, he caught sight of the title A Lilac Chain 
 on a poster of one of the two lesser theatres; and, 
 fresh from the bill-sticker's brush, the advertise-
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 225 
 
 ment was pleasant to him on entering the town. 
 So Miss King was here! He hoped he'd meet 
 her. 
 
 The hope was fulfilled on the next morning 
 but one. He did not admit to himself that he 
 was pacing the front after he was tired of it, but 
 he was feeling dejected when they came face to 
 face at last. 
 
 Naturally she was not surprised ; everybody at 
 Brighton was aware that Greatorex was at the 
 Royal. 
 
 "Of course you know you're an enemy?" she 
 said, smiling. "The Pantheon company is ruin- 
 ing our business here; if I weren't a traitress to 
 my manager, I shouldn't talk to you." 
 
 "Oh, please be a traitress," he said. "I won- 
 dered if I should come across you. Are you 
 really doing badly?" 
 
 "Well, it's not one of the things one is sup- 
 posed to confess, but I don't think we're turning 
 money away. Where do you go next week? 
 You're not against us again?" 
 
 "We go back to London. And you?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing so distinguished we've a dread- 
 ful j ourney to Plymouth. How is the baby and 
 your wife?" 
 
 "They're very well," he said, "thanks. I should 
 like you to meet my wife one day. She's in town
 
 226 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 now, or I'd ask you if we might call on you. 
 What is your part like in this? I looked to see 
 if you had a Wednesday matinee if you had, I 
 should come." 
 
 "My part is very good it always is in the 
 provinces or South Africa, where it doesn't ad- 
 vance me. When I say 'good,' please understand 
 that I'm speaking strictly as an actress; I don't 
 mean that it has anything in it : I mean that I've 
 situations, and plenty to say." 
 
 "You ask for too much," he answered with a 
 smile. 
 
 "Because I want to succeed?" 
 
 "Oh no ; because you're not satisfied with situa- 
 tions and plenty to say." 
 
 "That's true," she said, "although you didn't 
 mean it. I do ask for too much perhaps that's 
 why I get so little. It's hard, though, when you 
 feel yourself capable of Oh, how terrible 
 
 that sounds! I don't think I'm a vain woman, 
 but if I'd gone on then, I should have horrified 
 you." 
 
 He shook his head. "I don't think you 
 would. If I were a dramatist I should want you 
 in my cast. I don't know what you'd be like 
 as Lady Macbeth " 
 
 "I know," she said; "I should be shocking." 
 
 "But I can see you in some parts. If Mundey
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 227 
 
 had been a personage in the theatre, even 
 'Patience' would have proved useful to you: he 
 thought you excellent. It was your misfortune 
 that you were in a piece by a man who may never 
 write another." 
 
 She did not make it easy for him to turn beside 
 her, and after a few more seconds he took his 
 leave. He trusted, however, that the morrow 
 would be fine. And it was. 
 
 He chose the King's Road again, but it proved 
 a disappointment. A board proclaiming at the 
 entrance that the "band was now playing" sug- 
 gested that she might be met on the pier, but 
 here also he failed; and, discarding the shops as 
 improbable, since she was only in a watering- 
 place for a week, he sauntered next along the 
 sea-wall. 
 
 It was on the sea-wall, on a bench with a book, 
 that he discovered her, and now their conversa- 
 tion was wider, more inspiriting. This was on 
 Wednesday; and on Thursday he reached the 
 sea-wall earlier. 
 
 In conversation the added gravity in her 
 demeanour that had struck him when he saw her 
 on the Mirror stage, often fell from her. Her 
 enthusiasm for something beautiful would 
 brighten her face, and the man's mood. She 
 understood so quickly and she was so well
 
 228 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 worth understanding. Their ideas were not 
 always the same, but it was an unfamiliar joy 
 to him to find himself uttering his thoughts with- 
 out the sharp fear of their exciting ridicule acting 
 as a brake. Even when Miss King took a differ- 
 ent view from his, they thought so much alike 
 essentially, that their arguments, like the sides 
 of a triangle, always met at the apex, and their 
 point was one after all. 
 
 On Friday she was not there. But when he 
 tried the pier once more she was among a group 
 that watched the departure of the Worthing boat. 
 
 As he recognised his liking for her, it was 
 platonic. If he had been told that in seeking 
 her he was committing an indiscretion, he would 
 have laughed at the statement quite honestly. 
 It was she who realised that for them to spend 
 the morning together every day was inadvisable, 
 though her reason was merely that his wife might 
 not like it. However, now that he was here, it 
 would have been self-conscious to hurry away, 
 and he appealed to her sufficiently for her re- 
 straint to vanish ten minutes after they sat 
 down. 
 
 He had appealed to her always, and at the 
 Cape she had often looked back on their acquaint- 
 ance. No doubt it remained fresh in her memory 
 chiefly because it had been attributable to an
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 229 
 
 occurrence which no woman could ever forget; 
 but the man's personality had had something to 
 do with the fact as well. In retrospection, too. 
 she perceived much that she had ignored, or 
 taken for granted, at the time, and she told her- 
 self that there were few men who would have 
 proved so chivalrous to a girl under such condi- 
 tions. It was natural that these should appear 
 more appalling to her on every occasion that she 
 dwelt upon them; and the more she shuddered 
 at the danger that she had run, the more ex- 
 aggerated was the tribute that she paid to her 
 companion's loyalty. 
 
 "What train do you go by on Sunday?" she 
 asked. "How glad you must be that you'll soon 
 be home." 
 
 "We go in the morning; I don't know by which 
 train. Oh yes, of course, it will be very nice to 
 be at home." He felt that his tone had had less 
 warmth than he had tried to throw into it, and 
 so did she; it was a surprise, and something of 
 a shock to her. He added quickly : "Fortunately, 
 my wife isn't playing now, or I should find the 
 evenings rather dull till we reopen." 
 
 "Isn't it wonderful to you sometimes," said 
 Miss King, "to reflect that you're Mercutio at 
 the Pantheon?" 
 
 "Don't think I'm ungrateful; but it isn't, any
 
 230 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 longer. I only wonder that I don't find it won 
 derful." 
 
 "But that's pathetic," she said; "I shouldn't 
 like that. Do you mean to say that the pleasure 
 of success is so very fleeting, that you, who not 
 three years ago were may I say it? who not 
 three years ago were quite unknown in London, 
 and spoke of pawning your watch, are blase 
 already?" 
 
 "I did pawn it," said Oliphant. "I don't like 
 the word blase; it always sounds a pose to me; 
 but it's true that I haven't the thrill, the ecstasy 
 that I always imagined I should have, presuming 
 I ever got so far. You were stage struck before 
 you went into the profession, of course?" 
 
 "Violently; I used to tremble at the sight of a 
 playbill. Why?" 
 
 "Well, after you had been acting for a year, 
 didn't you ever stand on a stage just before the 
 curtain went up, dismayed to find yourself so 
 cool? Didn't you ever think: 'I am an actress; 
 I am standing here on a real stage, behind a real 
 curtain, and there's a real audience on the other 
 side of it who'll hear me speak my six lines in a 
 minute or two'? Didn't you try to work your- 
 self up into the state of tremor that you were 
 astonished that you didn't feel?"
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 231 
 
 She nodded. "Often! It's just what I did 
 do." 
 
 "Well, it's just the same when one gets further. 
 I say, 'How rapturous it ought to be 1' ' 
 
 "It's not a fair comparison," she said earnestly; 
 "that's wrong, it's wicked of you. Do you know 
 what that will mean if you aren't careful? it 
 will mean that you'll lose your ambition. Don't 
 do that. You won't because we both love the 
 stage, and it needs ideals you won't be false to 
 that dream of yours?" 
 
 "Why," he cried, "didn't we talk of it yester- 
 day? You forget." 
 
 "I missed something yesterday," she said; "I 
 don't forget. I remember how you talked that 
 day outside the Museum, and you didn't sound 
 quite so fervid yesterday." 
 
 Oliphant sighed. He had not married Blanche 
 when he dreamed outside the Museum. Dulling 
 his aspiration now was the vague consciousness 
 that he was picturing a future which his wife 
 would depreciate were it gained. 
 
 "I am as fervid in my heart," he said, "God 
 knows. In my heart the stage is as dear to me, 
 my aims are as high, as before you and I ever 
 met as high as when I was at the Varsity seeing 
 visions, and worshipping a stage that doesn't 
 live."
 
 232 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 "I'm glad," she said. "I'm nobody; and when 
 your theatre exists I shall be too old to begin 
 to make a reputation in London, and too sad to 
 go there only to make a living. But all for our 
 stage, and not for myself, I should like to see 
 you, who have the talent and the chance, keep 
 brave enough to make your dream come true. 
 Remember that a man is young as long as he 
 retains his enthusiasm; you have such time in 
 front of you use it for all it's worth! Your 
 opportunities are so splendid don't waste them. 
 Accomplish, Mr. Oliphant. Think what you've 
 done, and strain every nerve till you've done all 
 you meant to do." 
 
 The band had finished, and the crowd was 
 streaming towards the turnstiles. Miss King 
 rose, and he sauntered beside her to the Parade. 
 Here they were about to separate, for their lodg- 
 ings lay in opposite directions, but as they loi- 
 tered to a standstill Oliphant was greeted by the 
 actor who played the part of Friar Laurence. 
 The Friar told him that a telegram for him was 
 lying at the theatre, and having dropped the 
 information, continued his way, which was to the 
 Bodega. When Oliphant rejoined her, Alma 
 saw that he had turned pale. 
 
 "Is anything the matter?" 
 
 "He says there's a wire for me at the theatre;
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 233 
 
 it can only be from home I'm afraid the baby 
 may be ill." 
 
 "Oh," she faltered, "why imagine such a 
 thing?" She looked away, with a pang at her 
 heart she had now learned almost as much of 
 his married life as he could have told her. 
 
 "The Royal is on your road, isn't it? Do you 
 mind driving?" He hailed an open fly at the 
 same moment, and she got in. 
 
 "You're very foolish to be frightened," she 
 said, as he took his seat; "surely there may be 
 a dozen reasons why your wife should wire you? 
 Mightn't it be business?" 
 
 "I daresay I don't know. I suppose it's 
 foolish, but she has never wired me before ; it was 
 the first thing I thought of." It was only now 
 that it occurred to him that it might be Blanche 
 who was ill. "Of course she may be ill herself," 
 he muttered. "Or or it may be nothing at 
 all." 
 
 She saw that the kindest thing she could do 
 was to be silent; and they did not speak until 
 the stage-door was reached. 
 
 "Don't stop inside!" she said. 
 
 The door swung to behind him, and she sat 
 watching it. 
 
 Oliphant tore the telegram open in the pas- 
 sage. There was no shock, only a confirmation
 
 234 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 of his groundless terror. The message ran: 
 "Baby ill; I think you ought to come up quickly." 
 He put his hand over his eyes. "Quickly?" But 
 he must play Mercutio first! And meanwhile 
 the child might die. 
 
 He walked back to the cab, and held the tele- 
 gram out. He did not look at her as she read 
 it he was looking at nothing up the street. The 
 pause in which her sympathy sought for words 
 seemed to the woman to last a long time. 
 
 "Is it strange for a man to care so much for 
 a little baby?" he asked huskily. 
 
 "What can I say to you?" she murmured, in 
 a voice that expressed everything. "You can 
 be there to-night? Oh, of course Mercutio has 
 finished so early! What train can you catch?" 
 
 "I don't know I must find out. Don't 
 
 trouble; it's awfully good of you, but I'm 
 
 very fond of him, you see, and of course I'm 
 worried. I'll go and look at a time-table." 
 
 "It mayn't be so serious as your wife thinks. 
 She'd naturally be alarmed and fear the worst. 
 When you get home, you may find him out of 
 danger." But she had noticed that the telegram 
 had been despatched at seven in the morning, 
 and she felt what this delay that he had to bear 
 must be to him. 
 
 "I daresay," he said; "yes thanks. Where
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 235 
 
 shall I tell the man to drive? No, why get out? 
 What street did you say you were in?" 
 
 She steadied her lip between her teeth for an 
 instant. "Dome Street," she said; "number six. 
 Will you Mr. Oliphant, will you let me know 
 when you come back? Hope for the best!" 
 
 He had paid the cabman, and was turning 
 away when she called to him eagerly. 
 
 "Get in," she cried, "get in and drive to the 
 station! Perhaps you can get home and back 
 before the piece begins!" 
 
 He hadn't thought of that. The suggestion, 
 the vague chance, quickened his nerves. The 
 cab rocked as they raced up the hill. 
 
 They learnt that the best train left at two, and 
 was due at Victoria at 3.40. He might be at 
 home before four; the doubt was whether he 
 could return in time. But they had ten minutes 
 to find out, and they saw that, allowing him an 
 hour in the flat, it was possible ; there was a train 
 from Victoria at 5.2 which reached Brighton at 
 seven. 
 
 "You'll soon be with him now," she said at 
 the window of the compartment. "Don't worry 
 more than you can help !" 
 
 Her earnest face was the last thing that im- 
 pressed him vividly until he saw his wife's. 
 
 There was no need to frame the question. The
 
 236 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 answer was in the air. He knew the child was 
 dead. 
 
 Blanche's eyes were swollen, and the hair on 
 her forehead was moist with eau de Cologne. 
 Her hands hung inertly at her sides. At the 
 sight of him she burst into tears, and he took her 
 in his arms. Neither had spoken yet. She spoke 
 first. 
 
 "He died at ten o'clock," she said. 
 
 Oliphant released her, and crossed the floor 
 quite aimlessly. He stared down at the traffic 
 for a minute, and retraced his steps. 
 
 "What time did he die?" he asked. 
 
 "At ten o'clock," she repeated. "We thought 
 it was only a cold with his teeth; and then the 
 doctor said it was pneumonia. He was a very 
 good doctor. Mother was here, too she's just 
 gone out; she'll be back presently. Oh, my little 
 angel in Heaven! I've cried myself ill!" 
 
 "Where?" said Oliphant, after another silence. 
 
 "In the nursery," she replied. 
 
 The word made him wince. He went to the 
 room slowly, and crept forward as if the child 
 had slept. The curtains of the cot were drawn. 
 He parted them, and looked. He had left the 
 door open: he went back and shut it; and sat 
 down. 
 
 The woman wandered about the drawing-
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 237 
 
 room. Her head ached badly, and she reflected 
 that it was fortunate "Mother" was available "to 
 see to things," for she could never have done it 
 herself: she was too highly strung. It seemed 
 thankless to perceive the fact and she wouldn't 
 for the world hurt Mother's feelings by hinting 
 it but to be able to attend to such matters im- 
 plied a certain callousness. . . . Her little angel 
 in Heaven! She gazed at the sky from the win- 
 dow where Oliphant had stared at the omnibuses. 
 Her "precious" was with God! The possibility 
 of a future state was a subject to which normally 
 she never gave a thought, but now an unconscious 
 remembrance of a Transformation Scene soothed 
 her pain. . . . 
 
 Royce was a long while in there! He would 
 be frightfully grieved of course he had been so 
 fond of Baby. What she really needed was to 
 be with someone who hadn't loved the mite; she 
 was so miserable that she wanted brightening up ! 
 She required to be taken away somewhere and 
 made to forget; she ought to be compelled to 
 gather a little amusement. . . . 
 
 Jay's! . . . Crape for an infant would be too 
 
 much. In black, as she had fair hair How 
 
 horrid it was to be obliged to think of such 
 things! Ah, but how passionately she suffered 
 in her heart nobody could understand! Still
 
 238 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 people would pity her, and talk. Even the 
 public would speak of her loss sympathetically: 
 "That poor Blanche Ellerton !" If The Era and 
 The Stage commented on it, no doubt a few of 
 the other papers would say something too. What 
 day was it? Friday. (Oh, the unlucky day! 
 her darling had died on a Friday!) The Era 
 came out to-morrow they wouldn't know so 
 soon. Unless . . . Perhaps if the news were 
 "expressed" to the office at once ? 
 
 Oliphant replaced the curtains gently. He 
 fancied it must be nearly half an hour since he 
 entered the room; he had forgotten Blanche, and 
 before he left he must try to comfort her. Poor 
 girl, how red her eyes were ! 
 
 She rose and went to him quickly as he re- 
 turned, and he held her close again. 
 
 "Doesn't he look sweet?" she whispered. 
 
 He found nothing to say in answer to this. 
 
 "I shall be home on Sunday, for good, you 
 know," he said, since speech was essential. 
 
 She nodded. "When's your train back?" 
 
 "At five." He glanced at his watch the time 
 had gone more rapidly than he had supposed. 
 "Your mother will stop with you, won't she?" 
 
 "Yes. . . . Have you had anything to eat? 
 Will you have something now?" 
 
 "I'm not hungry; no, thanks, dear."
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 239 
 
 "You'd better have a drink," she said, turning 
 to a syphon and a spirit-flask. "I've just had 
 some brandy for my head. You ought to have 
 something or other before the showl" 
 
 He sat down in the chair that she had vacated 
 by the table. A letter, not folded yet, lay against 
 his hand, and he drummed his fingers on it while 
 she poured out the brandy. He pushed it to and 
 fro. He began to read it mechanically, with 
 no interest in the letter. Its sense did not pene- 
 trate his stupor all at once : "I should be so grate- 
 ful if you could find space to mention. . . . My 
 little baby died this morning." What was that? 
 "I should be so grateful if you could find 
 
 space " O God! The meaning rushed upon 
 
 him and turned him sick. She could devise an 
 advertisement from her child's death ! 
 
 The soda-water spurted noisily. It was the 
 only sound in the room for several seconds. He 
 sat motionless, his gaze riveted on her hand- 
 writing; and Blanche, holding the glass, stood 
 watching him. She was chagrined to find him 
 reading the note he might misconstrue it and 
 think her unfeeling! Was he going to reproach 
 her? 
 
 He was questioning what he should say. That 
 she revolted him? He could tell her no less if 
 he spoke of it at all. He might destroy the note,
 
 240 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 forbid its being sent. She would defend herself, 
 perhaps have hysterics; and he was too heart- 
 sick to remonstrate and discuss and upbraid. To 
 what end all that? She was as she was; a pain- 
 ful scene wouldn't regenerate her. But was she 
 human? 
 
 He got up, and she met him with the glass 
 diffidently. 
 
 "You're going to have your drink, aren't you?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "No," he said, "I don't want one, thank you. 
 I must go, or I shall miss the train. Where's 
 my hat? . . . Good-bye." 
 
 "Good-bye, darling," she said. 
 
 He would not, he could not, touch her face; 
 he dropped the sound of a kiss upon her hair. 
 She had put her arms round his neck, and he 
 thanked Heaven when he was free of them. 
 
 To act at night was a restorative; it was the 
 afterwards, sitting alone in his apartments, that 
 was terrible. And more terrible still was the 
 thought that he must so soon sit with her at home. 
 Home? The place where she had trampled on 
 the dead! Now that the child was gone, what 
 did it hold? His child, even more his hopes for 
 his child, had leavened the bitterness of his 
 blunder; but the pictures he had seen of Hugh 
 at three and Hugh at seven, of Hugh head boy
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 241 
 
 at Harrow, could never be looked at again. 
 They must be put away his pictures and Baby's 
 
 all together. And she could And she was 
 
 his wife! The woman who could do this thing 
 was his wife! Why should such women bear 
 children? Well, she had known herself; she had 
 done her best to prevent it ! 
 
 He remembered that Miss King was waiting 
 to hear from him he would go in the morning. 
 She had told him her address, and begged him 
 to let her know. The number had escaped him, 
 but she was staying in Dome Street. Was it 
 six? 
 
 He went at half -past ten, before she was likely 
 to be out. The alternative of seeking her among 
 the crowd on the front jarred upon him to-day, 
 and in the afternoon she would be playing at 
 the theatre. 
 
 The landlady ushered him without inquiry into 
 a small parlour. Alma was kneeling before a 
 theatrical hamper, completing her packing. She 
 lifted herself slowly, and advanced with her gaze 
 fixed on his face. 
 
 "He is dead," said Oliphant. 
 
 She put out her hand, and he held it tightly. 
 There was comfort in her touch. 
 
 "Sit down," she murmured, moving to the 
 hearth. "I I was afraid it meant that, when
 
 242 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 no message came last night. . . . You know 
 what I want to ask you?" 
 
 "I was too late." 
 
 They sat opposite each other without speak- 
 ing. The misery in his eyes made her heart 
 ache. 
 
 "You're packing early," said Oliphant at last, 
 with an effort. 
 
 "Yes; we've a matinee, you know, and the 
 lorry will be here this afternoon. We leave at 
 seven in the morning." 
 
 "Where do you go? to Plymouth, isn't it? 
 And then? How long does the tour last?" 
 
 "I think we're booked up to the last week in 
 December. Don't make small talk, please. I 
 don't want to." 
 
 "I didn't come to depress you perhaps it was 
 rather cowardly to come at all. I might have 
 sent you word." 
 
 "It was kinder to come. I don't like to ask 
 you questions, but if you could speak of him to 
 me, I should be glad." 
 
 "It's all here!" he exclaimed chokily. 
 
 "Ah, I know. But it will go the worst. The 
 memory won't go, but it gets tenderer. You'll 
 love to think of him by and by." 
 
 "It seems so motiveless, a little child like that. 
 He was if you had seen him you'd understand.
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 243 
 
 Of course everybody thinks his own child best, 
 but he had ways. Why should he be born only 
 to be snatched from me again? I wanted him 
 so much! . . . You believe do you believe in 
 Heaven?" 
 
 "Yes. I'm so simple a woman that I've never 
 questioned it. When I lost my mother, my only 
 comfort was that I wasn't clever and full of 
 doubts. Are you so clever that you're hopeless 
 now?" 
 
 "No; I believe," he said. "I haven't the im- 
 agination to conceive that Heaven's a myth." 
 
 "I suppose that each of us has a different 
 notion of Heaven, just as all the notions are 
 wrong; but I only think of it as a place where 
 people who've loved are given back to one an- 
 other and need never fear parting any more. I 
 don't see how mine can be very wrong. And I 
 think we shall look just the same to them, 
 although we may have grown old since we lost 
 them, as we did the day they died. I think I 
 shall still look a girl to my mother if I live to be 
 eighty." She gave a half smile. "If I am good 
 enough to go to Heaven!" 
 
 "And they too us?" he asked. "Should I find 
 a baby in fifty years?" 
 
 "Yes, I think you would find a little baby in 
 fifty years. Just the little baby you had kissed,
 
 244 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 and remembered. But you should be able to give 
 ideas to me you were going to be a clergy- 
 man." 
 
 "You," said Oliphant, "are a good woman; 
 a good woman can teach us all." He had not 
 mentioned his wife's name, and the reservation 
 by which he imagined that half his sorrow had 
 been concealed was doubling Alma's compassion 
 for him. 
 
 He was loath to take his leave, and even when 
 he had risen, they lingered by the window. 
 
 "I'm glad I came," he said at last; "you've 
 been very kind to me. I wish we hadn't matinees, 
 or that you didn't start so early to-morrow. Now 
 I'll let you finish your packing." He looked 
 round the humble room bright with the morning 
 sunshine. "Are those books yours? Are they 
 to go in too?" He went to the chair where they 
 lay, and brought them to her, and stood beside 
 her while she put them in the hamper. "Good- 
 bye, Miss King." 
 
 "Good-bye," she said. "And think of your 
 art and your hopes, and make us all proud of 
 you!" 
 
 "I wonder when I shall meet you again? You 
 and I are always being good friends for a little 
 while, and then losing sight of each other, aren't 
 we?"
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 245 
 
 The firmness of her hand-clasp seemed to lend 
 him strength, as it had given him comfort when 
 he entered. Yes, his art remained ! 
 
 Alma went back to the window, and watched 
 him till he turned the corner of the street.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 HE did not return to town until the morning 
 of the funeral. In the afternoon the cot and the 
 toys, all the belongings of the dead baby, were 
 removed from the nursery. The room was now 
 Oliphant's; it was here that he studied and he 
 slept. 
 
 There had been no open rupture, for Blanche 
 had refrained from asking his reason; she knew 
 it, and affected to attribute the expression of his 
 wish to morbid grief. She considered that he 
 was suffering from a temporary derangement of 
 the intellect, and the time to show her resentment 
 would be when he came to his senses. 
 
 But to a man of Oliphant's temperament no 
 other course was possible if they were to remain 
 under one roof. When he reflected that within 
 six hours of their child's death she could do what 
 she had done, she appeared to him a monstrosity. 
 Every nerve in him shrank from the suggestion 
 of contact with her. He felt that to take this 
 abnormal creature in his arms as a wife would 
 
 246
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 247 
 
 be a horrible action an offence after which he 
 would be degraded, and repulsive to himself. 
 
 Holding his cause the slightest, and yet afraid 
 of discussing it, Blanche's disguise was at first 
 painfully thin, her amiability was an obvious 
 bravado. But as the weeks went by, the influence 
 of custom softened the asperities of the anoma- 
 lous relationship. Both were in engagements: 
 Oliphant still at the Pantheon where Romeo 
 and Juliet had been succeeded by a revival of 
 Much Ado About Nothing and the woman de- 
 riving consolation from a hit at the Pall Mall. 
 With months they acquired a manner nearly as 
 free as that which had subsisted between them 
 before the baby died. Oliphant could sit in a 
 room with her without shuddering ; and if a pro- 
 longed tete-a-tete distressed him still, this had 
 its compensation to her in the fact that it made 
 him readier to accept the invitations of "people 
 worth knowing" a circle which, thanks to her 
 assiduity and his professional successes, was 
 gradually widening to the "romantic couple." 
 
 By the time the season had well advanced, the 
 circle had supplied a counter-irritant to her 
 original complaint. People, otherwise well-bred, 
 question artists about their prospects and their 
 incomes with an effrontery that they would never 
 dream of displaying towards those in business,
 
 248 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 and gushing matrons sometimes asked her when 
 she and her clever, delightful husband were going 
 to have a theatre of their own. This unconscious 
 impertinence galled her, because if Royce had 
 not been a noodle that was how she mentally 
 expressed it they might have had their own 
 theatre already. She craved for her own theatre 
 and the attendant importance. When she men- 
 tioned the subject to him he was as unsatisfactory 
 as ever, and there were moments of solitude in 
 which she raged, and demanded of the irrespon- 
 sive walls what marriage with such a visionary 
 had given to her. 
 
 She determined to put Otho Fairbairn's 
 friendship to the test herself ; and one afternoon, 
 when she was at home alone, he was announced. 
 She prayed that no one else would call. 
 
 "Royce is out," she murmured; "but I daresay 
 he'll be back soon. Put your hat down." 
 
 "You look tired," he said with concern. 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders and laughed con- 
 strainedly: "Oh no! What's the news?" 
 
 "With me? Do I ever have news? I came 
 to hear news to be entertained. Behold the 
 selfishness of man and the abuse of hospitality !" 
 
 "I don't think you ever find us very entertain- 
 ing, do you?" she said. "I was beginning to think 
 you found us so dull that you weren't coming
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 249 
 
 any more. How long is it since you've been here 
 three months?" 
 
 "Mrs. Royce!" He had begged leave to call 
 her "Mrs. Royce," saying "the other sounded 
 so awfully formal"; and when she had lisped 
 "Otho formal!" permission was accorded. 
 
 "Three months, isn't it?" she said; "or is it 
 four? We were asking each other what we had 
 done!" 
 
 "Mrs. Royce! It's not two! And I've been 
 away. You aren't offended with me really, are 
 you?" 
 
 Until now it had not occurred to her that she 
 might be offended; she had only been impatient 
 for his visit; but it was amusing to watch his 
 pink-and-white dismay. She nodded slowly. 
 
 "Oh, I say, I'm immensely sorry," he ex- 
 claimed, "if you mean it! And is Royce, too?" 
 
 "I can't answer for Royce. I'm offended, if 
 that matters!" 
 
 "Oh, please don't be unkind; I've been away, 
 on my honour ! I left town the first week in May 
 broke all my engagements and went into the 
 country. Impulse. But in future I am always 
 going to spend the season in the country. That 
 London should be fashionable during the months 
 when the country looks its loveliest is a monu- 
 mental instance of human perversity. I was at
 
 250 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 Studland I don't suppose you know it? I can't 
 tell you how peaceful, how divine it was 1" 
 
 "Has she accepted you?" asked the lady. 
 
 "Oh, now you're chaffing that means I'm for- 
 given. Thank you, Mrs. Royce." 
 
 "I'm quite serious. You don't expect me to 
 believe that you left town in May for where 
 was it? somewhere peaceful and divine, unless 
 there was an attraction?" 
 
 "There was an attraction," said Otho; "there 
 was Nature! Nature and Art. I was down 
 there with a man who was making studies for a 
 picture. You observe I'm technical: 'making 
 studies'! He used to paint, and I used to read 
 poetry. I got up at eight every morning, and 
 lived in the sunshine. When I think of all the 
 springs I've wasted in Piccadilly I feel I've been 
 a most awful ass, really I do." 
 
 "And you didn't read the poetry to a girl?" 
 
 "I never spoke to a girl the whole time I was 
 there. One doesn't keep talking about some 
 things, Mrs. Royce, but there are wounds that 
 don't heal." He looked at her plaintively. "Did 
 you think I was so shallow that I could forget 
 so soon? You were very nice to me once when I 
 stayed and bored you an unconscionable time. I 
 thought you understood that I shouldn't for- 
 get?"
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 251 
 
 "But you must forget," she replied. "I re- 
 member what I said better than you do. I said 
 you'd meet somebody before long who would 
 make you ashamed of yourself for having railed 
 against us poor women. All women were heart- 
 less because one girl had treated you badly. Oh, 
 Mr. Fairbairn!" 
 
 "I know," he said. "Yes, I was very absurd 
 all that's past. You were the 'somebody' who 
 made me ashamed of that. But I shall never 
 love again. I could never feel more than friend- 
 ship for any woman now." 
 
 "You are very faithful!" she said, regarding 
 him with a display of eager interest. "I thought 
 it was only my sex who could be so faithful as 
 all that?" 
 
 "Your sex?" he exclaimed. "Why " 
 
 "Ah!" she said, lifting an admonitory finger. 
 
 "You are always the exception, Mrs. Royce!" 
 he laughed. 
 
 "The 'present company,' ' said she. "Of 
 course!" 
 
 "No, but I mean it honestly. I've never seen 
 any woman so so sympathetic, and so devoted 
 to her husband as you are. I congratulated 
 Royce verbally before I met you as in duty 
 bound ; but since I've known you, I've congratu- 
 lated him a hundred times in my own mind. And
 
 252 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 how he has forged ahead since his marriage! 
 You've been a Mascotte to him." 
 
 She sighed. 
 
 "Don't you think you have? Why are you 
 looking doubtful?" 
 
 "Oh, of course he has got on," she said; "but 
 I wish my mascotry what is the word? could 
 take him further! I want to see Royce in a 
 position to choose his parts and to show people 
 what he can really do." 
 
 "He ought to have a theatre," said Fairbairn. 
 
 Her hands rose, and fell to her lap, in a little 
 impatient gesture: "Let's talk of something else, 
 Mr. Fairbairn, please I didn't mean to mention 
 this! I know you once offered to start him in a 
 theatre, so it's the one subject I can't speak to 
 you about." 
 
 "But why?" he asked. "Why can't you?" 
 
 "Isn't it natural? You might think I 
 
 Besides, Royce would be very angry if he knew 
 that I'd let you guess we were troubled." 
 
 "Do you mean that you are in trouble because 
 he can't take a theatre that you are both worry- 
 ing about it?" 
 
 "Don't make me say any more," she begged. 
 "I'd rather not!" 
 
 "But"- his eyes were big and grieved. "Is 
 this fair to me? You know I'd like to serve
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 253 
 
 Royce. And I thought you and I were friends? 
 You must trust me. Between ourselves 1 Do 
 you really mean you're both worried because he 
 can't take a theatre?" 
 
 "Well, I'll say that I am. If you spoke to 
 Royce, he would tell you that it is too soon 
 according to Royce it will always be too soon! 
 Royce lacks confidence. This is one of the cases 
 where a woman sees further than a man. Royce 
 is wasting his time at the Pantheon now. He 
 can never do any better there than he has done. 
 What has he to look forward to? That Greatorex 
 will ask him to play his parts ? Or put on Othello 
 to give Mr. Royce Oliphant the opportunity to 
 make the success of the evening as lago? Short 
 of management he has gone as far as he can 
 get. Well ! one day he will go into management. 
 Some capitalist will come along and offer to 
 back him there is no risk about it; it will be 
 a very good investment but he won't be so 
 young then; some of his best years will have 
 been lost; the time between to-day and the day 
 when the capitalist appears will have been 
 wasted. I see it more clearly than the poor boy 
 himself, though, if he told the truth, he sees it 
 partially too. As his wife, how can I help being 
 distressed?" 
 
 "But, my dear Mrs. Royce," cried Otho, "why
 
 254 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 haven't you said this to me before? You knew 
 
 of my offer to him why didn't you hint to 
 
 me that it might be repeated? I've never thought 
 about it ; he seemed to me to be doing splendidly 
 what do I know of stage matters? I feel 
 awfully guilty, really! Of course, he ought to 
 have a theatre! Now you've put it to me, I 
 understand. I'll have a talk to him this after- 
 noon." 
 
 "No, no!" she said, aflame with joy; "it 
 mustn't look as if it came from me he'd never 
 forgive me. Speak to him when you're here 
 again; and be firm! Tell him he's a fool, and 
 insist on having your way I should fancy you 
 generally get your way when your mind is made 
 up, don't you? Say oh, say whatever you 
 like, but don't let him suspect that we've been 
 exchanging confidences, or his pride will be up 
 in arms in a moment!" 
 
 Otho promised to exercise the utmost diplo- 
 macy; the confederate was to say little, and he 
 was to address his arguments as much to her as 
 to Oliphant. It was arranged that he should 
 drop in a few days later without warning. The 
 subtlety of the well-meant scheme to deceive his 
 friend pleased him vastly, and it was not a whit 
 less gratifying as he took his leave to remember 
 that "Mrs. Royce" would be benefited as well.
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 255 
 
 Blanche thought he was the most charming 
 young man she had ever met. She had not 
 nursed many misgivings, but the alacrity of his 
 response warmed her heart towards him; she 
 regretted that she had been compelled to be a 
 trifle disingenuous. 
 
 The plan was duly executed; but, to her sur- 
 prise and joy, Oliphant demurred very faintly. 
 He proved quite willing to be persuaded that it 
 was not premature for him to adventure manage- 
 ment. He had been loath to take the first step, 
 averse from asking the favour, but now that 
 Fairbairn again came forward without solicita- 
 tion, every pulse in him leapt with gladness. 
 
 "You would be backing your opinion of us 
 very heavily, Otho," he said; "don't forget that 
 if it proved a mistake, it would be an expensive 
 one! If you're prepared to risk it, Heaven 
 knows I can't say 'Don't' ! But think the matter 
 well over first; we'll talk of it again." 
 
 "I've nothing to think about," persisted Fair- 
 bairn; "it's for you to say 'yes' or 'no.' If I'm 
 any judge of acting, I shan't lose on the con- 
 trary, it will be a rattling good thing for me." 
 He turned to Blanche. "You see the commer- 
 cial instinct can't be silenced, Mrs. Royce; it's 
 hereditary!" 
 
 She laughed. "A theatre is a business to
 
 256 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 everyone. Well, it's nothing to do with me 
 Royce must decide." 
 
 "You know the only lines on which I'd run 
 a theatre," said Oliphant, speaking thickly; "I 
 want to produce the best available work. There 
 will be no concessions to catch the crowd. There 
 is no fortune, no large income, to be made from 
 a theatre that I control." 
 
 "It's going to be 'art for art's sake,' " returned 
 Otho; "I quite understand. I haven't a con- 
 suming desire to drop a heap of money, but I 
 can't pretend that I'm only actuated by the hope 
 of making a pot, either. If it does put anything 
 in my pocket, I shan't be angry with you; if it 
 only pays expenses there'll be satisfaction enough 
 in feeling that I've a share in an artistic under- 
 taking. Which theatre do you think you might 
 get?" 
 
 "I haven't a notion. We shan't get a house 
 directly we want one, you know I can't walk 
 into management next month. And first there 
 are the plays to be considered there are a great 
 many things to be considered! I warn you 
 you'll be badgered to death before the curtain 
 goes up." 
 
 "Not I! I shall come to the first night, or 
 the dress-rehearsal, when the bother is all over. 
 The work is for you, my friend 1"
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 257 
 
 "Well," cried Oliphant, "we shall have to go 
 into figures, and you shall tell me what your idea 
 is." His excitement broke into action, and he 
 clapped Fairbairn on the shoulder wildly. "You 
 shall be proud of your stage, Otho! I don't 
 swear for the actor-manager, but you shall be 
 proud of the work, I promise you ! What do you 
 say, Blanche? We'll do him justice, won't we?" 
 
 She assented gaily, but he had not waited for 
 her assent. Momentarily he had forgotten that 
 their views were opposed, and his delight was 
 boundless. It was only after an appointment 
 had been made for the morrow, and Fairbairn 
 had gone, that the first stir of remembrance 
 tinged elation with regret, and he perceived anew 
 that to his own ears the triumphal march must 
 always have a discord. 
 
 Blanche and he paced the room. Both were 
 shaken by the prospect, but to each the prospect 
 was different. The wife saw the obvious showy 
 parts, public adulation and professional defer- 
 ence, and a life-size portrait of herself in the 
 foyer. How she wished that one or two women 
 that she hated would apply for engagements! 
 The man, to whom dramatic art was a religion, 
 saw a theatre that should be the expression of 
 his life. He saw on how marvellous a basis this 
 ideal theatre would be reared due to a friend
 
 258 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 who did not regard it as a means of money- 
 making. As he realised the magnitude of his 
 opportunity, Oliphant trembled, and wrung his 
 hands in a prayer that he might be worthy of the 
 power vested in him. 
 
 She brought him back to the practical with a 
 jerk. 
 
 "What shall we put our salaries down at?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "I haven't thought about it," he said. "How 
 much do you suggest?" 
 
 "A hundred," she said promptly. 
 
 "A hundred?" he echoed. "How a hundred?" 
 
 "Z'm getting twenty." 
 
 "But J'm very far from getting eighty! How 
 a hundred? In common gratitude we must put 
 down our salaries at less than they would be 
 anywhere else not more! Remember that the 
 capital is entirely Otho's ; we risk nothing." 
 
 " 'Less'?" she exclaimed; "when we do all the 
 work?" 
 
 "My dear Blanche, we share the profits." 
 
 "Yes, I know. Well, if we charge the same 
 it's fair enough I don't see why we should 
 charge 'less.' If it weren't for us, there wouldn't 
 be any profits." 
 
 "And if it weren't for Otho's generosity, we 
 shouldn't have a theatre. He is doing a very
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 259 
 
 wonderful thing let's show that we appreciate 
 it ! There's not one man in a million who would 
 start another in a theatre from pure good feeling. 
 He gives us perfect liberty he says : 'You want 
 a theatre ; take one, and play whatever you like. 
 If there's a loss I'll meet it.' It's an unpre- 
 cedented offer. It isn't even as if he felt as 
 as we do. Otho is a fellow who likes literature 
 and art everywhere excepting on the stage. If it 
 weren't for us and he ran a theatre at all he'd 
 do it for a lark and put up musical comedy. We 
 can't treat him as if he were a speculator." 
 
 "What did you mean," she said, "by telling 
 him there couldn't be any fortune, any large 
 income? Why not? They say Wilkie made fifty 
 thousand pounds out of Only Once More alone !" 
 
 "Only Once More was a farce," said Oliphant; 
 "we don't propose to play farce, do we? You 
 wouldn't like that yourself?" 
 
 "No, but plenty of dramas make money. Look 
 what the Hendons made at the Mirror! That 
 was drama. Look what Shedlock is doing at the 
 Queen's with this last ghastly thing I hear the 
 people are eating it." 
 
 He shivered. 
 
 "I think you know," he said, "I'd rather be 
 in engagements all my life than have a theatre 
 and run it on Mr. Shedlock's lines. I'll produce
 
 260 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 the best work, or none. And believe me, 
 Blanche, you can get all you want by aiming 
 at the highest you will be much more prominent 
 than if you content yourself with the second- 
 rate." 
 
 "But I shan't get all I want if we're going to 
 be poor all our lives," she answered. "I do 
 hope, Royce, you aren't going to fritter this 
 chance away on fads?" 
 
 ' 'Poor,' " he repeated; "do you think we're 
 poor? What more can you want ? You've heaps 
 of frocks; we've a pretty flat; you need never 
 look twice at a five-pound note 
 
 "But all this," she interrupted impatiently, 
 "will be poverty when we're in management. 
 We aren't going to live here, and have two people 
 to lunch once a month, when we've our theatre. 
 We shall have to give garden parties, and enter- 
 tain on a big scale." 
 
 He looked at her, surprised. 
 
 "Why?" he said. "And how? What with?" 
 
 "Yes, 'what with?' that's just it! If we don't 
 make money, we can't do it. Our salaries, espe- 
 cially if you're going to cut them down, won't 
 be enough. One minute you say we share the 
 profits, and the next you say there won't be 
 any." 
 
 "I don't think I said that I certainly trust
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 261 
 
 there will be. All I said was that they wouldn't 
 be great, at all events at the beginning. I'm 
 not so eccentric that I'd rather avoid a profit 
 than make one." 
 
 "That's some comfort!" she returned. "Of 
 course one wants to do good pieces! You don't 
 suppose that Z'm so eccentric that I'd prefer 
 them bad, do you? Only no Brand, Royce if 
 you're going to open the campaign with Brand 
 because you want to play the part, we shall be 
 doomed." 
 
 "Have you read it?" he inquired. 
 
 "No, dear," she said, "but I tried to." 
 
 Oliphant converted a sigh into a laugh. 
 
 "Well," he replied, "I wasn't thinking of 
 Brand. I'd like to work with you hand in hand, 
 Blanche. Let's correct each other's mistakes 
 we both make them, no doubt. If you tend to 
 one extreme* I suppose, I tend to the other. If 
 we meet half-way ' 
 
 "It will be a sensible compromise!" she de- 
 clared, smiling. 
 
 His heart sank at the word ; he had felt it com- 
 ing when he paused, and the clang of it knelled 
 in his soul. Was he talking of "compromise" in 
 the first hour? No, he would not juggle with 
 his conscience; he would be true to his faith! 
 Though conquest abroad would be rendered ten
 
 26S THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 times harder by opposition in his home, he would 
 stick to his colours to the last. He had yearned 
 for this opportunity, dreamed of it, laboured and 
 lived for it. God had sent it to him; and by 
 God's help he would justify the boon!
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 IT was at last decided that the joint salary of 
 the actor-manager and his wife should be fifty 
 pounds. Otho was to be responsible for the rent, 
 the cost of production, and all expenses "behind" 
 and "in front," and he volunteered to spend 
 seventy pounds a week in newspaper advertise- 
 ments, though Oliphant had estimated them at 
 less than sixty. With the work he was to have 
 no concern. Profits were to be equally divided; 
 and Oliphant, while stipulating that there should 
 be no fees for cloak-rooms or programmes, un- 
 dertook that the business-manager should ar- 
 range for advertisements on the programmes, 
 the commission on the hire of opera-glasses, and 
 the sub-letting of the bars to the best advantage. 
 These were all details of which Otho knew noth- 
 ing, and of which Oliphant knew much less than 
 he supposed. They pertained to the seamy side 
 of a theatrical enterprise, and could not be 
 ignored, however; indeed, the further the project 
 progressed, the more complicated did the seamy 
 side become. 
 
 263
 
 264 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 But before it appeared to progress at all, Oli- 
 phant was dismayed to see how time passed 
 how the weeks and months went by until the 
 first night, never any nearer, seemed as elusive 
 as a will-o'-the-wisp. The earliest idea had been 
 to obtain a lease of the Embankment Theatre, 
 but Otho, buoyant with champagne one night, 
 had soared superior to the scheme just when the 
 negotiations were assuming definite shape, and 
 had declared that he wanted to take a bigger 
 house and "run the whole thing on first-class 
 lines." Oliphant, who was hankering to have a 
 poetic play of Sylvain Lacour's done into Eng- 
 lish a production demanding elaborate mise-en- 
 scene was only too ready to be convinced that 
 the bolder course was the wiser; and the solicitor 
 to the Embankment coming to terms tardily, 
 found that he had come to terms too late. 
 
 A bigger house was not immediately available ; 
 nor could Sylvain Lacour be brought to believe 
 all at once that any translation could do justice 
 to his genius. A visit to Paris, with the offer of 
 an increased percentage of the receipts, per- 
 suaded him that he had underrated the resources 
 of the English language; but the English poet 
 on whom Oliphant had set his heart was tem- 
 porarily incapacitated by gout, and there were, 
 moreover, all kinds of anxieties and disappoint-
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 265 
 
 ments relative to the modern drama by which 
 God and the State was to be followed. 
 
 This God and the State appeared to be an 
 admirable selection for the opening venture. 
 Though Lacour might not be a great dramatic 
 poet, he came as near to being one as did any 
 writer living. The action of the play was laid 
 on an imaginary island, and the period was de- 
 scribed simply as "The Past," but the interest 
 was for all lands and for all times. The central 
 situation, too, was magnificent, and though it was 
 a finer acting-scene for Blanche than for himself, 
 Oliphant would have felt it a privilege merely to 
 produce such a work. That its beauty should 
 pass unnoticed looked to him impossible. 
 
 Blanche, who was unable to read French, had 
 heard enough to understand that she had a very 
 emotional part, and she therefore forgave its 
 being in verse. Her principal objection was that 
 her costume must be simple and poor. Oliphant 
 had his Court apart from her, his scenes of splen- 
 dour; but the heroine, like the daughter of 
 Triboulet, lived in a world contained by four 
 walls, and only reached the gates of the palace, 
 in the last act, to die. 
 
 Meanwhile, she had other meditations. When 
 they opened the theatre, they must have a larger 
 drawing-room; she had determined that. A
 
 266 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 garden possibly she might have to waive, but a 
 larger drawing-room was essential. It was not 
 necessary to discuss the matter with Royce, but 
 she utilised her morning strolls to interrogate 
 various house-agents in the neighbourhood. On 
 one occasion she met Otho in Victoria Street, 
 and, as they proceeded towards the flat together, 
 she told him where she had been. 
 
 ''I'm not talking to Royce about it," she ex- 
 plained; "he has enough to think of; but it would 
 be idiotic for us to remain where we are when 
 we go into management. The more people we 
 have home, and the more we visit, the better for 
 all of us it will be. Did you know that?" 
 
 "It never occurred to me, Mrs. Royce; of 
 course you're quite right, though." 
 
 "I'm so glad you agree with me," she said. 
 
 "I always do, I think." 
 
 "I think you do it's very sweet of you! On 
 the first night we must have a reception on the 
 stage. I want you to bring everybody you can. 
 Women as well! Women can be so useful. 
 When oh when, Mr. Fairbairn shall we know 
 for sure? Oh, the suspense of it all! It's simply 
 awful." 
 
 "Royce expects to settle for the May fair, you 
 know, now," he said. "I do wish we could have 
 got ahead more quickly for your sake."
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 267 
 
 "Oh!" she turned to him with swift depreca- 
 tion; "please don't think me such a horrid un- 
 grateful wretch as to grumble to you. Even 
 if we had got the theatre, we couldn't open 
 yet. Nobody can help it; and you rwell, if I 
 grumbled to you, I should deserve a shaking." 
 Her eyes laughed in his for an instant. "I think 
 I should ask you to give it to me!" 
 
 The young man met her gaze with a touch of 
 embarrassment that he did not care to define. 
 
 "Well, I believe we shall have a huge triumph 
 when the piece is produced," he declared. "Don't 
 you? Of course I've no experience, and I only 
 judge as an outsider, but when I read it, I was 
 tremendously impressed." 
 
 "How cruel of you to remind me of my appall- 
 ing ignorance! Z'm simply dying to read it, and 
 I can't," 
 
 "Oh," he said, "I forgot. Tell me! Shall I 
 make you a rough translation? Would you like 
 me to?" 
 
 "Oh, no," she exclaimed; "how can you pro- 
 pose such a thing? Why, it would be most 
 frightful trouble!" 
 
 "It wouldn't be any trouble at all, done for 
 you. I'll start it to-night." 
 
 "Do you mean it? Really? But to-night? 
 Aren't you going anywhere?"
 
 268 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 "I wasn't going anywhere particular. It will 
 be an immense pleasure to me, I assure you. 
 Don't expect it for a few days; you know, being 
 verse, it will take a little time, although I shall 
 only aim at conveying the sense. I'll send it to 
 you directly it's finished." 
 
 "You might spare half an hour more and bring 
 it, mightn't you?" she suggested. 
 
 "So I might," he said. "Then directly it's 
 finished, I'll bring it to you." 
 
 "And read it!" added Blanche gaily. "Oh, 
 you must certainly read it. The adapter always 
 reads the play !" 
 
 His cheeks grew pinker. "My dear Mrs. 
 Royce, I've a fair amount of self-esteem not to 
 call it 'vanity' but I shouldn't have the pluck 
 to read it aloud to you to save my life." 
 
 She hung her head in mock abashment. 
 
 "I shouldn't," he insisted; "honour bright!" 
 
 "Am I such a terrible person?" she inquired 
 humbly. 
 
 "No, but you're an actress, and you'd make 
 game of me not openly of course, but 
 
 The reproach in her face shamed him. 
 
 "You can't mean that," she said; "you know 
 better! Here we are! Come in and see Royce !" 
 
 Oliphant was in an arm-chair before the fire, 
 with The Stage in his hands. Blanche asked him
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 269 
 
 what he was doing with it, for it had been issued 
 some days. She unpinned her hat, and Otho 
 took her coat from her; he was conscious of a 
 pleased interest as he watched her settling her 
 hair before the glass. 
 
 "I was looking down the 'Professional 
 Cards,' " replied Oliphant; "I want to find out 
 where Miss King is, if I can. I'd like to offer 
 her an engagement when the time comes." 
 
 "Miss King?" said Blanche. "Oh, yes, I know! 
 But why why this philanthropy?" 
 
 "Who is Miss King?" asked Otho. He found 
 that he was still stroking Blanche's muff, and 
 he put it aside. "I think I'll have one of your 
 cigarettes, Royce." 
 
 "There they are, old man, behind you. Miss 
 King is a very clever woman. 'Philanthropy'? 
 There's no philanthropy about it. Where does 
 'philanthropy' come in?" 
 
 "It's a blessed word, anyhow," murmured 
 Otho, inhaling "like 'Mesopotamia.' ' 
 
 "And just as irrelevant," said Oliphant. "I 
 want to offer her an engagement in the piece be- 
 cause I don't think we could get anybody better." 
 
 Blanche laughed shortly. 
 
 "When did everyone else die?" she inquired. 
 "How very absurd, Royce 'couldn't get any- 
 body better'! She's a provincial actress, Mr.
 
 270 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 Fairbairn, who fascinated my impressionable 
 husband by the genius with which she did noth- 
 ing at some matinee. Engage her, my dear boy, 
 by all means, I'm sure I don't mind; but say it's 
 because you like her, not because you couldn't 
 get anybody better. I thought we were to have 
 a West End company in which case we could 
 get a good many people better." 
 
 "Then I am going to engage her because I like 
 her," answerd Oliphant. "But for Otho's satis- 
 faction, perhaps you'll permit me to repeat that 
 she has talent; I shouldn't suggest casting her 
 for 'Astolaine' if I weren't sure of it." 
 
 Otho puffed his cigarette a shade uncomfort- 
 ably. 
 
 "I daresay she'll be very good," he observed, 
 eager to say the right thing, and failing signally. 
 " 'Astolaine' would appeal to any woman, I 
 should say!" 
 
 "What do you mean?" exclaimed Blanche. 
 "Is 'Astolaine' an important part, Royce?" 
 
 " 'Astolaine' is your sister. It's not a long 
 part it's the most important woman's part after 
 yours, of course; in fact, it's the only important 
 woman's part besides yours." 
 
 She looked from one man to the other incredu- 
 lously. 
 
 "And you're going to give it to a woman who
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 271 
 
 isn't known," she demanded; "to a woman who 
 has never spoken twenty lines in town? What 
 for? I don't think Mr. Fairbairn is so anxious 
 to save five pounds a week on the salary list ; are 
 you, Mr. Fairbairn?" 
 
 "My dear Mrs. Royce," he stammered, "you 
 can engage whom you like anybody you both 
 decide on you know the arrangements have 
 nothing to do with me at all." 
 
 "We shan't save anything on the salary list," 
 said Oliphant. "Look here, Otho, this woman is 
 an artist; she'll play 'Astolaine' infinitely better 
 than many women who have big reputations. 
 The part is worth about ten pounds a week, and 
 I propose to pay her ten pounds always pre- 
 suming that she rehearses it satisfactorily. Do 
 you object?" 
 
 "/ don't object," said Otho; "certainly not, 
 old chap. I don't object to anything." 
 
 "Then if I can learn where she is, I'll write to 
 her or she may be in South Africa, or Australia, 
 when she's wanted." 
 
 "But there is no philanthropy about it?" cried 
 Blanche with affected amusement. "You are 
 going to offer her the best chance she has ever 
 had, and the best salary, and there is no philan- 
 thropy about it? Why, you couldn't do any 
 more for the woman if you were in her debt!"
 
 272 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 "I am in her debt," said Oliphant; "I owe her 
 the only comfort I received in the greatest grief 
 of my life." 
 
 He had turned pale ; and Blanche also changed 
 colour, though she could only conjecture his 
 meaning. Fairbairn wished he hadn't come in. 
 It seemed to him that Royce had created a serious 
 discussion out of a playful remonstrance. Doubt- 
 less every married couple had domestic differ^ 
 ences ; but the illusion had existed that Oliphant 
 and his wife were the one exception. 
 
 When he went, it was with a little dismay, and 
 the matter recurred to him during the evening 
 while he was at work on the translation. The 
 translation was far from being a task to be 
 knocked off lightly by a man of taste. He put 
 down his pen more than once, and questioned 
 if, with the ignorance of a bachelor, he was ex- 
 aggerating the suggestiveness of the incident that 
 he had witnessed. He decided that he was, for 
 Mrs. Royce was too charming for any man to 
 be unhappy with her! 
 
 Oliphant had not continued his study of The 
 Stage after his friend's departure, nor had 
 Blanche revived the subject of the debate. A 
 diversion had been effected by the entrance of 
 Mr. and Mrs. Ellerton. 
 
 The novelist had evidently come with a pur-
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 273 
 
 pose; and though Oliphant had always under- 
 stood that he had persistently refused invitations 
 to write for the theatre, it transpired that in the 
 course of the last ten years he had written several 
 very literary dramas without any invitation at 
 all. 
 
 "It occurred to me," he said, "that your 
 theatre will be conducted on my lines. Now I 
 have the play for you. And I have brought 
 it!" 
 
 "I should like to read it," answered Oliphant; 
 "thanks. Of course you know our opening pro- 
 duction is settled? We shall probably get the 
 Mayfair from next September, and we open with 
 Lacour's God and the State we shall keep to 
 the title: God and the State!" 
 
 "I heard something about it the last time 
 Blanche came; I didn't know you had actually 
 settled. Not till next September? Well, you 
 might do this second." 
 
 "The next piece is fixed too. Still, if if it's 
 suitable, we might do it third or fourth." 
 
 "It's a lovely play, Royce," said Mrs. Ellerton 
 fervently; "I'm sure you'll like it. Blanche 
 knows it don't you, dear? The Alienist" 
 
 "Oh yes," said Blanche, "is that it? Yes, I 
 remember it." Her tone was not enthusiastic, 
 and her mother repeated nervously :
 
 274 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 "If you read it, Royce, I'm quite sure you'll 
 like it. The hero's and heroine's parts are both 
 beautiful. They are really!" 
 
 "The hero and heroine's," said the novelist. 
 "How often have I told you that, I wonder 1" 
 
 "Yes, dear," she murmured, "I'm so stupid; I 
 must take care! They're both splendid, Royce! 
 And the scene in the study, where he discovers 
 the signs of insanity in his own wife, and you 
 hear the dance-music of the children's quadrille 
 in the next room, and the moonlight is streaming 
 through the windows, is grand." 
 
 "It sounds so," observed Mr. Ellerton, "as 
 you describe it; 'the moonlight streaming 
 through the windows' has a truly literary ring! 
 Your mother-in-law, Royce, is an estimable 
 woman; and the Editor of Winsome Words, who 
 will be one-and-twenty next birthday, has the 
 highest opinion of her talent. His communica- 
 tion this week is really most flattering. But if 
 she told you the story of a work of Tolstoy's, you 
 might think you were listening to a synopsis of 
 a penny novelette. It's very remarkable. She 
 'sees through the medium of a temperament'- 
 to quote Emile and her temperament is of the 
 novelette, noveletty!" 
 
 This was one of the speeches delivered with 
 deliberation, and with all the points carefully
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 275 
 
 emphasised which invariably filled Oliphant 
 with a desire to kick the smiling and sarcastic 
 gentleman ; and ostentatiously ignoring him now, 
 he addressed himself to the poor woman who 
 was endeavouring to wear an easy smile. 
 
 "What was the flattering letter, Mother?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "Oh, nothing," she said. "Only a few lines 
 with the cheque, and a request for two more 
 stories. When are you coming to see us again?" 
 
 "If you knew how busy I am!" he exclaimed 
 apologetically. "How is Gertrude?" 
 
 "Yes, how is Gertrude?" said Blanche; "we 
 must really try to run out one afternoon this 
 week! I haven't seen her for an age. And you 
 know, Royce, we've been awfully rude to Mrs. 
 Le Mesurier we've never called there since that 
 luncheon party. And there's Lady Liddington 
 we're neglecting everyone. What Lady Fleck 
 will think of us I don't know. Do tell Gertie 
 how busy we are, Mother! Why doesn't she 
 come and see us? Although, as we're out so 
 much, she'd better not come without hearing 
 from me first!" 
 
 "You are becoming more fashionable every 
 day, I perceive," drawled Mr. Ellerton. "The 
 feted favourites of Fortune." 
 
 "Don't!" she sighed languidly. "The bore it
 
 276 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 is if one could only be quiet ! I long for a six- 
 months holiday in a place where there are no 
 visitors and no invitation cards. Shall I ever get 
 it? ... You're going to stay, aren't you?" 
 
 She liked them to stay to dinner when they 
 came. In this building, too, there was a restau- 
 rant downstairs, and it gratified her to cavil in 
 their presence at a cuisine which she knew they 
 must be finding epicurean. As a rule she and 
 Oliphant dined lightly, but when her family re- 
 mained, she ordered four or five courses, and 
 was chagrined if his refusal of chartreuse be- 
 trayed that they did not have liqueurs every 
 evening. 
 
 Oliphant repeated his assurance that he would 
 read The Alienist which might be a good play 
 handicapped by a bad title and the author 
 obviously considered that perusal implied accept- 
 ance, for his manner became quite genial before 
 the hour arrived for the husband and wife to 
 betake themselves to their respective stages. 
 When the promise was fulfilled, however, Royce 
 found that the drama possessed all the faults of 
 Mr. Mundey's ; and he was for the first time pro- 
 foundly thankful that he hadn't married a de- 
 voted daughter. 
 
 Alma, whom he had not seen since they parted 
 at Brighton, was discovered to be on tour with
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 277 
 
 the Hamiltons, and having ascertained her 
 whereabouts, he said to Blanche: 
 
 "By the way, I see Miss King is at Rochdale 
 this week. We grew rather heated the other day 
 about nothing. Of course I don't want her in 
 the theatre against your wishes, but if she proves 
 as good as anybody else, I suppose you've really 
 nothing against the arrangement, have you?" 
 
 Blanche shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "Why should I have?" she said, not un- 
 amiably. "If she is good, engage her!" 
 
 Oliphant wrote to Alma the same day, a letter, 
 which gave him a glow of happiness. He told 
 her that in all probability he and his wife would 
 open the Mayfair towards the end of the follow- 
 ing year, and that he hoped she would be free 
 to come to them. The sentence in which he men- 
 tioned the word "salary" was a little difficult to 
 phrase, for while he was delighted to put money 
 in her pocket, he hated to have to talk about it. 
 It was the first time he had written to her, and 
 he was surprised, when he had finished, to see 
 that he had covered six pages. But there had 
 been so much to say about the piece, and his cer- 
 tainty that she would feel the part. 
 
 Her reply was briefer, but he seemed to hear 
 her speaking. "Can I say anything more than 
 'Thank you with all my heart'?" she wrote. Yet
 
 278 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 she had found more to say; and almost he could 
 divine where she had paused with the sudden 
 fear that her pen was running away with her. 
 
 It was already close upon Christmas, and soon 
 the Hamiltons' tour must be ending. He would 
 have liked to ask Alma to call upon him and 
 Blanche when she returned to town, but shrank 
 now from speaking of her any more than he was 
 compelled. When Christmas came, he momen- 
 tarily entertained the idea of going to Burton 
 Crescent, in the hope that she might be staying 
 there again. But it would not be quite the thing ! 
 He dismissed the notion. 
 
 The contract for the Mayfair was signed in 
 January ; and after that the poet's progress with 
 Lacour's play, and the models of the scenes, and 
 a score of matters demanding attention crowded 
 thick upon one another's heels. 
 
 With the knowledge that they would crowd 
 more thickly still as the year advanced, Oliphant 
 sometimes wondered what time the business cares 
 of theatrical management would leave him to 
 remember that he was an actor too.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 BLANCHE had considered that the auditorium 
 was shabby. She had stood between Otho and 
 Oliphant in the stalls one morning, and plucked 
 disconsolately at a loose piece of gimp on one of 
 the chairs. On the way back to the flat, it had 
 been apparent that she longed to see them newly 
 upholstered before the theatre was opened, and 
 when Otho suggested their renovation, the de- 
 lighted smile that lit her face had answered him 
 before she spoke. There had been a cheerful 
 discussion about the material to be used, Oliphant 
 and she holding different views. Otho inclined 
 to the opinion that the more effective scheme 
 would be the one advocated by Blanche, and 
 thenceforward she had had further ideas on the 
 subject daily. 
 
 He spent eight hundred pounds in gratifying 
 her whims if he had had a long lease, he would 
 have had the house redecorated and behind the 
 curtain the services of the best scenic artists had 
 been souerht, and the company boldly organised. 
 
 279
 
 280 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 The salary list, indeed, was much higher than 
 the figure at which it had been originally esti- 
 mated, but the dress-rehearsal amply justified 
 the selections that had been made. Every part 
 was rendered well, and even Blanche did not 
 deny that Alma as "Astolaine" was very good. 
 
 Otho echoed the pronouncement. He and 
 Blanche sat in the rehabilitated stalls during the 
 scenes in which she could escape from the stage, 
 watching the progress of the rehearsal together. 
 He found the evening very interesting; and 
 although he was depressed when the thunder or 
 lightning came at the wrong moments, the 
 frenzy that such blunders begot, and the excited 
 altercations that ensued, added a strong element 
 of humour to his inexperience. There was a 
 fascination, too, in sitting beside Blanche, swayed 
 by the same interests, and exchanging criticisms 
 with her. The strangeness of the woman's attire, 
 her accentuated eyebrows, and the colour on her 
 cheeks, all emphasised the novelty of the situa- 
 tion; and once, in commenting on the sleeves 
 of her costume, when she took his hand and 
 passed it down her arm, he felt a wave of emotion 
 which a few months earlier would have astonished 
 him. 
 
 Of a truth, Otho had awakened to the fact that 
 he admired Blanche more than was desirable
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 281 
 
 not for his own peace, but for ethics. His mental 
 state was so very undefined that it permitted 
 him to assure himself that he was supersensitive 
 and absurd to see anything wrong in it. Never- 
 theless, perceiving that he was regarding his 
 friend's wife somewhat differently from the way 
 in which he would have wished to regard her, 
 there had been one or two occasions on which he 
 had not failed to be distressed. 
 
 There was no room for distress in his mind, 
 however, on the following night. He was in- 
 fected by the fever that pervaded the menage in 
 Green Street where Blanche and Oliphant had 
 obtained a furnished house. As he took his seat 
 in his box, he was reminded of the sensations 
 with which he had sometimes entered a grand- 
 stand. Royce, who was looking tired and ill, 
 had been in the theatre till late in the afternoon, 
 and then driven home, to snatch a hasty meal, 
 and endeavour to rest. The curtain rose on God 
 and the State at eight o'clock, and by 8.30 a 
 fashionable audience had assembled in the May- 
 fair Theatre. The pit had ceased to cry "Ssh!" 
 and it was no longer necessary for people to keep 
 rising in order that late-comers, who showed no 
 consciousness of their discourtesy, might pass 
 them. 
 
 The actor-manager's nervousness was pain-
 
 282 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 fully apparent during his first lines, but Blanche 
 had her voice under better control. After Royce, 
 the artist whose nervousness was most visible was 
 Alma, passionately eager to justify Oliphant's 
 faith in her. Otho fancied he could detect 
 through his glasses that her lips trembled. 
 
 The atmosphere seemed to gather spirit by 
 degrees, and his craving for a strong whisky-and- 
 soda and a cigarette grew less intense. But he 
 remarked for the first time how cold at its best 
 was his acquaintances' well-bred attitude towards 
 a theatrical performance; and then with an 
 anxiety which he had never imagined that 
 journalists could be capable of inspiring under 
 his shirt-front, he glanced speculatively at the 
 rows of Press men, and at a box opposite, where 
 one critic sat alone. 
 
 The curtain fell at twenty minutes' past eleven, 
 and a number of the fashionable audience that 
 had come in late, trooped through the pass-door 
 to the stage, where Blanche was a triumphant 
 hostess. The play, they exclaimed, was a 
 "dream," it was "sweet," it was "quite too de- 
 lightful upon their honour." Where the poetry 
 had been spoken there was now a gush of in- 
 sincere congratulation. Many of the smiling 
 visitors thought the performance dreadfully dull, 
 as did the majority of the pit and gallery, who
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 283 
 
 had coughed and shuffled with irritating fre- 
 quency during some of the scenes. But in the 
 flow of felicitation, six months was the shortest 
 run that anybody permitted himself to prophesy. 
 
 However, most of the notices could be called 
 favourable to the production. Some insisted that 
 Lacour was a lyric poet, and not a dramatist, 
 limiting their approval to the way the work had 
 been Englished, and the manner in which it was 
 played; a few praised it unreservedly. There 
 were plenty of excerpts to be made for advertis- 
 ing purposes, "the good quotable line" being 
 absent only from the opinions of the novices, who 
 were learning syntax by "criticising" for the 
 least important periodicals. It now remained to 
 be seen how God and the State would be sup- 
 ported by the public. 
 
 Blanche and Otho were sanguine, though the 
 receipts were not immediately all that could be 
 wished ; they whom misgivings already oppressed 
 were Oliphaiit, and the woman whom the Press 
 had agreed to describe as "an actress of con- 
 spicuous ability, hitherto unknown to London." 
 Every evening when he came off, in the first act, 
 by the door at which she was waiting to make her 
 earliest entrance, Alma looked an inquiry, and 
 he stopped to answer it. But there was really 
 no need for him to say that the house was bad
 
 284 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 again she could read it in his face; nor did it 
 need words from her to tell him that she was the 
 only person who understood how much he had at 
 stake. 
 
 Between these two, whom life, which has no 
 construction and no moral, had once thrown 
 together, and speedily separated who had met 
 again by chance when the weaker one was mar- 
 ried, and been again divided by circumstances 
 until the man's purpose brought the woman into 
 his own theatre there had always been a sym- 
 pathy, which now grew stronger daily. Daily, 
 Oliphant looked forward with greater eagerness 
 to their next conversation, and remembered more 
 vividly their preceding one. And meanwhile his 
 home became less and less congenial. Blanche 
 with a well-appointed house in a fashionable 
 quarter, did not allow her opportunities to be 
 fettered by the theatre receipts. She had re- 
 moved to Green Street in order to entertain, and 
 she was resolved to fulfil her intention. Her 
 social functions seemed to him incessant, and 
 from any one of them the actor-manager would 
 joyfully have escaped to take his way to the 
 lodgings in Bloomsbury that held Alma. He 
 knew no more of her lodgings than their address, 
 for she had not been asked to Green Street. 
 
 That his wife had omitted to invite her was
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 285 
 
 due to indifference, and not to any objection to 
 Royce's conversations with Miss King. Their 
 conversations, since he had proclaimed that they 
 were such devoted friends, she found natural 
 enough. Moreover, she would have been un- 
 willing to do him the honour of evincing jealousy, 
 unless there had been a scandal which compelled 
 her to insist that the other woman, whoever she 
 might be, should leave the theatre. Blanche was 
 too much elated to be jealous. True, the business 
 remained bad, but her passion for paragraphs 
 was now gratified abundantly, and at the worst, 
 God and the State would prove a failure. Kirt- 
 land's drama would be a hit, she supposed his 
 name alone was a draw and then the failure 
 would be retrieved. But she was sorry for Otho, 
 because to him there hadn't been any benefit 
 whatever from the venture. He was so "gentle- 
 manly about the returns!" And really it was 
 "something to be looked at again by a man who 
 was in love with her! Of course there were 
 plenty of men who tried to look as if they were 
 through monocles in every drawing-room. But 
 that was only because she was on the stage, and 
 with the ignorance of the outsider, they thought 
 that all actresses were to be had. Otho was 
 really in love with her. Poor fellow, how happy 
 he would have been as her husband!"
 
 286 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 A woman's reflections cannot progress so far 
 as this without her manner altering towards the 
 man; and it was when Blanche's manner first 
 altered, that Otho perceived with poignant self- 
 reproach that he could no longer apply salve to 
 his conscience by the terms "supersensitive" and 
 "absurd." He was at this period strong enough 
 to leave London, if there had been no reason for 
 his remaining, but he was weak enough to find 
 sufficient reason in his interest in the Mayfair. 
 Unable now to deny his sentiments, he to-day 
 assuaged remorse by assuring himself that they 
 didn't matter, because she would never know. 
 
 That he must sustain a heavy loss by the initial 
 production was speedily apparent, and it was 
 decided that Kirtland's drama should be put into 
 rehearsal when God and the State had been run- 
 ning three weeks. Oliphant felt needlessly 
 guilty, but he was confident that they were now 
 about to rehearse a work which would attract all 
 London. 
 
 Kirtland, being a dramatist with a literary 
 reputation and an independence, had reached the 
 point where he could afford to be courageous, 
 and as he was a writer of brilliant ability, his 
 courage had fascinating results. Already he had 
 written two plays of psychological interest which 
 had been great artistic successes, and in The
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 287 
 
 Average Man he had at last dared to say all he 
 thought. Had he deliberately sat down to con- 
 trovert Theophile Gautier's dictum that the 
 theatre never becomes possessed of an idea until 
 fiction has worn it threadbare, he could not have 
 made a bolder experiment. To Oliphant it ap- 
 peared to be one that would emancipate the Eng- 
 lish stage and make an epoch. 
 
 He had lent the manuscript to Alma, and he 
 awaited her opinion more anxiously than he had 
 asked for Otho's; far more anxiously than he 
 had asked his wife's. 
 
 "It's magnificent," she said. "I don't know 
 if his view is right, but it's a view to hear, and to 
 think about. And the dialogue the grip of it! 
 Did you say I was to play 'Mrs. Ivery'?" 
 
 "I hope you like the part?" He believed that 
 she would have played the heroine's better, but 
 naturally Blanche must have that, though she 
 would not be so subtle in it. 
 
 She read his thought, as she read all he had. 
 "I like it very much," she replied quickly. "I 
 like my part, and I admire the play it's worthy 
 of the Dream Theatre. Oh, please Heaven, it 
 will be all right ! I pray for it." 
 
 "Our Dream Theatre has opened badly," he 
 said. 
 
 She nodded. "But it will come !"
 
 288 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 "With this?" 
 
 "I think so." 
 
 "You need never go back to four or five 
 pounds a week in the provinces anyhow 1" ex- 
 claimed Oliphant, after a pause. 
 
 "Ah, don't say 'anyhow' ! And I wasn't think- 
 ing of myself when I said that I prayed." 
 
 "I know. Only I'm glad, at least, that " 
 
 "You will have much more to be glad about. 
 But I thank you. You've done a great deal for 
 me, Mr. Oliphant I shall never forget it as long 
 as I live." 
 
 "I don't want your thanks," he said; "I hate 
 your thanks. If you've talent, thank God for 
 it / didn't give it to you. I want your friend- 
 ship; and every time you 'thank' me you make 
 me a stranger to you." 
 
 When her cue came, Oliphant went down to 
 his dressing-room, realising, as he had realised 
 before, that he had uttered a lie. It was not her 
 friendship that he wanted, but her love. He 
 loved her. He loved the timbre of her voice, and 
 the comprehension of her silence, and inanimate 
 things that she had hallowed by her touch. He 
 loved her with the mind that she had dominated 
 and the soul that was rendered greater by his 
 love. He loved her too truly ever to tell her the 
 truth. Again a man believed that he could love
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 289 
 
 without the woman knowing it. If he had been 
 free, and could have won her, triumphs would 
 have been transfigured and failures robbed of 
 their sting; if he had been free, he would have 
 won her, and life could hold no more than that! 
 Once happiness had been within his reach, and 
 he had blundered by it. To-day he looked back, 
 empty-handed, from a celibacy that had no 
 rights. But though he could never touch her 
 lips, she was his Ideal; and that he might be 
 worthy to worship her he would always be faith- 
 ful to his wife. Temptation was not avoiding 
 him it was in the front of his theatre often, and 
 in his own house, and in the drawing-rooms of 
 others; but to Oliphant it had seemed that to 
 break his marriage-oath would make him guilty, 
 not towards Blanche, not towards God, but 
 towards Alma King. Lowered by an intrigue, 
 he could not have met her eyes. Herself he 
 would not have taken had she been willing to 
 come to him and he would not insult her by 
 accepting anything less.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 The Average Man was eulogised by those 
 organs which embody the views of the critical 
 for the delectation of the cultured ; it was received 
 with respect by the entire Press ; it was even com- 
 mented on by the public. It did not, of course, 
 excite the interest aroused by a football match, 
 but its thesis was mentioned; there were a great 
 many people in London who said "Fancy!" 
 
 However, though Oliphant had continued to 
 play it for two months, and hoped against hope, 
 the drama was a financial failure, and this time 
 Blanche was not a whit less anxious than he, 
 for the rent, and the servants, and the cost of her 
 luncheon and dinner parties, swelled the house- 
 hold expenses to a sum which was by no means 
 covered by her and Royce's salary. Besides 
 being anxious, she was incensed, for the less 
 ardent of the newspapers had questioned whether 
 the subject was one "calculated to attract the 
 general playgoer, who, as we have often insisted, 
 seeks before all things to be amused," etc., and 
 she blamed Royce bitterly for his lack of judg- 
 
 290
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 291 
 
 ment. She might have foreseen the issue, she 
 felt : she had obtained a theatre for him, and now 
 his idiosyncrasies were going to ruin them! 
 
 Otho had denied himself Green Street for 
 more than a fortnight when he came one morning 
 in response to a note from her. It was not acci- 
 dental that he found her alone, for she had ap- 
 pointed the morning. 
 
 "I'm frightfully worried," she declared when 
 he had lighted a cigarette. "Don't I look dread- 
 ful? Don't I? I feel a hundred. You know 
 you must be firm ! You promised me you would 
 be. I told you six weeks ago that this thing was 
 a frost. Now Royce is considering a play that's 
 simply fore-doomed, and he says he has talked 
 to you about it. You should object! You must 
 tell him that you want your theatre to pay." 
 
 "Royce wants it to pay, you know," he said 
 uneasily; "I I can't very well take an attitude 
 that looks like It's nobody's fault up to the 
 present, is it ? The pieces have been good enough, 
 Heaven knows!" 
 
 "I've warned you," she sighed; "I can't do any 
 more. But, I tell you, I feel simply miserable 
 when I think what you've lost if it hadn't been 
 for me we shouldn't have had the theatre!" 
 
 "Oh, don't talk like that; we shall have a big 
 success directly, and
 
 292 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 "Never," she said emphatically. "Believe me, 
 Mr. Fairbairn, 'never'! It's a fact. Unless 
 Royce is checked if you don't make a stand 
 we shall have one failure after another. I see it. 
 It will mean thousands to you, and it will mean 
 well, I don't know what it will mean to us! The 
 Bankruptcy Court I suppose! We can't go on 
 like this long." 
 
 "I was afraid your affairs couldn't be alto- 
 gether roseate ; I've been thinking about it. I 
 if of course if there has been bad judgment, it's 
 been as much mine as Royce' s, and and it's only 
 right that I should share the responsibility. I 
 must have a chat with him. There needn't be 
 any duns, Mrs. Royce." 
 
 "Do you think I'd let Royce borrow money 
 from you?" she exclaimed. "Yes, I know, you'd 
 lend it gladly you'd do anything for us I be- 
 lieve ! but I wouldn't let him take it. And besides 
 I couldn't if I wanted to." 
 
 "Why? How do you mean you 'couldn't'?" 
 
 "Because Royce doesn't quite know the state 
 we are in. And I don't want to tell him." 
 
 "It needn't botner him if he can put things 
 straight. It would be only a loan. When the 
 success does come 
 
 "I didn't mean because he'd be bothered," she 
 said; "at least, not only that. You see I insisted
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 293 
 
 on this house, and asked the people here, and 
 made the debts. I did it for the best; the policy 
 was right enough if the business had been 
 decent, there wouldn't have been any trouble; 
 but I'm the 'culprit'! I don't want Royce to 
 turn round on me as he would and reproach 
 me. That would be the last straw!" 
 
 "Oh," cried Otho, "how could he reproach you? 
 He wouldn't!" 
 
 Her eyebrows rose. "Wouldn't he? But it 
 isn't a question of money. I only want you to 
 exert your authority, to have the theatre con- 
 ducted on proper lines. There's a piece now in 
 Paris just produced a piece of Reybaud's; 
 there's a notice of it in The Era this week. It 
 could be bought, it could be adapted, and might 
 make a fortune for us. But no! Royce wants 
 a 'masterpiece' that is going to bring us to the 
 workhouse instead. Oh, it drives me mad to 
 think about it!" 
 
 "Why not speak to him of Reybaud's piece?" 
 suggested Otho. "/ couldn't urge it much be- 
 cause I'm no judge; but you you might pro- 
 pose it, and use your influence with Royce." 
 
 ''Influence'?" she echoed. "Do you really 
 imagine that I've any influence with Royce?" 
 She laughed. "Why, my dear boy; I've no more
 
 294 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 influence over Royce than I have over the Prime 
 Minister 1" 
 
 "Do you mean that " He looked at her 
 
 incredulously. "Do you mean that your advice 
 your request would have no weight with him? 
 Wouldn't he pay any attention to it?" 
 
 "Certainly not," she said. She met the young 
 man's startled eyes for some seconds signifi- 
 cantly. Then in a quiet voice, and without lower- 
 ing her gaze, she added: "Royce and I have been 
 strangers for more than two years." 
 
 In the silence that followed Otho stared 
 dizzily at the fire. The suddenness with which 
 she had leapt the limits of conventional parlance 
 gave him a sensation resembling fright, and he 
 could think of no words for answer. At last he 
 stammered with an effort: 
 
 "Of course I'll try to do what you wish, with 
 pleasure. I'm awfully grieved to hear that 
 things are wrong ; I always thought that you and 
 he were so happy together." 
 
 She smiled faintly, a little to one side, her 
 nether-lip indented by her teeth. 
 
 "I'm the loneliest woman in the world." 
 
 The compassion on his face was delicious to 
 her, and, watching him, she was sincerely sorry 
 for herself. Words now thronged his mind only 
 too insistently, and he sat torn between the desire
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 295 
 
 to tell her how deeply he sympathised with her, 
 and the knowledge that if he obeyed the impulse, 
 he would surely say something that would make 
 it impossible for him to take Oliphant's hand 
 any more. 
 
 "Don't look like that," she murmured. "It 
 doesn't matter." 
 
 "What can I say?" he exclaimed. "It's so 
 hard for a man to show a woman whom he 
 mustn't who is no relation to him that he's 
 sorry for her!" 
 
 "You needn't say anything I know you're 
 sorry." 
 
 "It wasn't two years ago that we had our first 
 talk about the theatre," he said after another 
 pause. 
 
 "No," she said, "I know." 
 
 "And you were then ?" 
 
 She nodded. "But I was fond of him still and 
 ambitious for him. A woman doesn't become 
 indifferent all at once." 
 
 His eyes filled. She seemed to him all that 
 Was noble and strong to endure. 
 
 "Ah, don't! Ah, Silly Billy," she said half 
 playfully, half tenderly, "you mustn't!" 
 
 Otho turned aside, and lit another cigarette 
 with fingers that trembled a little.
 
 296 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 "You've cut me up horribly," he muttered. "I 
 wish to God I could do something for you!" 
 
 "You have, with your friendship. I don't 
 know anybody I could have talked to like this 
 but you." 
 
 "We are friends, aren't we?" he asked. "We 
 always shall be?" 
 
 "I'm sure we shall!" 
 
 "Well, let me do what I suggested just now," 
 he said eagerly. "I don't mean to let me speak 
 to Royce about it, but to arrange it with you. 
 It isn't much, but I shan't feel so infernally use- 
 less. If you'll only give me an idea of the sum, 
 I'll post a cheque this afternoon. Will you? Let 
 me put an end to your money worries, do!" 
 
 He had fulfilled a hope that had awakened in 
 her ten minutes ago. It had then occurred to 
 her that the loan made to herself privately would 
 dispose of the difficulties, and spare her the un- 
 pleasantness of owning their full extent to 
 Oliphant; but now, while her perception of the 
 circumstances remained quite as acute, sentiment 
 forbade her to take advantage of the young 
 man's love for her. She would have done it ten, 
 five, two minutes ago but the tears had come 
 into his eyes about her. She shook her head. 
 
 And his persuasions failed to move her out- 
 wardly, though inwardly she wavered often, and
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 297 
 
 hoped he would believe her obdurate before she 
 lost her footing on these unaccustomed heights. 
 When he had gone, regretful, she thought of him 
 with admiration for having raised her so much 
 in her self-esteem. 
 
 To complete Oliphant's unhappiness, and to 
 darken his outlook, it had needed only that he 
 should be required to stultify the expressed pur- 
 pose for which a theatre had been taken. By 
 Blanche's arguments that they could not be 
 popular socially unless the receipts enabled them 
 to entertain, he had been uninfluenced he did 
 not seek social popularity; and between reaping 
 the profit that would content her, and justifying 
 Fairbairn's experiment, there was a wide differ- 
 ence. He had been firm in the face of their 
 increasing liabilities, merely praying that their 
 expenditure might in future be reduced; he had 
 been as resolute as he could be as an actor- 
 manager with a backer. But when the backer 
 joined forces with the actor-manager's wife, 
 confidence collapsed. 
 
 Nevertheless the artist did not succumb im- 
 mediately; he proposed Shakespeare as a com- 
 promise. In London, if not in the provinces, 
 he urged, Shakespeare could be made to pay, 
 ameliorated by elaborate scenery, as a powder 
 by a tablespoonful of jam. Shakespeare might
 
 298 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 prove successful, and Shakespeare would be art. 
 But Blanche did not want to play Shakespeare, 
 and she harped on Felix Reybaud's La Curieuse, 
 the latest product of a playwright who was 
 sincere in nothing but his desire to tickle the 
 public taste; a piece which owed its success in 
 Paris, not to its characterisation, not to any 
 insight into life, but to a gratuitous immorality 
 and 'le doigte du dramaturge." 
 
 Oliphant shrank from confessing this new 
 trouble to Alma; he felt that it would be soon 
 enough to speak of defeat when he had agreed 
 to surrender. But for the first time Blanche 
 suspected that she was encouraging his views. 
 Umbrage had already been taken at several of 
 the Press notices, which had intimated that 
 "Miss King's acting had the rare and indefinable 
 quality of intellectuality," the word "rare" being 
 found an insult by implication. Originally one 
 critic had said it; but there had poured in a 
 multitude of cuttings from newspapers published 
 in almost every county in the kingdom, and as 
 some of the obscurer journals inserted the Lon- 
 don criticisms verbatim as the opinions of im- 
 aginary Correspondents, the manageress had had 
 the anoyance of reading the objectionable sen- 
 tence more than once. The suspicion now 
 aroused in her increased the disfavour with which
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 299 
 
 she had begun to regard Miss King. And as 
 a culminating offence, Alma chanced, on the 
 evening of the discussion, to receive some ap- 
 plause at a point where hitherto there had not 
 been any. The scene was one between her and 
 Blanche, who stood for two or three seconds at 
 a disadvantage. It was resentfully referred to 
 directly they were together in the wings. 
 
 "What was the meaning of that round, Miss 
 King? You've never had a hand there till to- 
 night?" 
 
 "I was surprised myself," answered Alma. 
 "But I think I felt the lines more than usual." 
 
 "Well, the next time you're going to feel them 
 perhaps you'll let me know!" said Blanche 
 sharply. "I don't want to be put out by your 
 applause again!" 
 
 But her irritation was too complex to evapo- 
 rate in a rebuke. To herself she said that since 
 King's influence was supporting Royce in his 
 folly, she shouldn't remain at the Mayfair. Mo- 
 mentarily she questioned if she was mistaking 
 the nature of the influence. But no; she did not 
 think that! Royce was deceiving her doubtless, 
 but not with King; and the credit, she should 
 imagine, was the woman's. 
 
 Creditable, or not, however, she did not want 
 her in the company, and she trusted that La
 
 300 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 Cuneuse, if they secured it, would prove to con- 
 tain no part for her. The argument about the 
 piece was repeated in Green Street the following 
 afternoon. Otho was lunching there, and Oli- 
 phant again dwelt upon his wish to revive a 
 Shakespearian play. 
 
 "But Mrs. Royce doesn't care for the idea," 
 said Otho. "What is your objection to Rey- 
 baud? I always understood that he was first- 
 rate." 
 
 "Well, of course he is!" Blanche exclaimed. 
 "We mayn't be able to get the thing if we try 
 there'll be twenty people after it. Reybaud? 
 If Reybaud hasn't a great reputation, I'm an 
 amateur, Royce, I know nothing about the stage. 
 Who in Paris has, then?" 
 
 "It depends what you mean by 'reputation,' ' 
 said Oliphant wearily. "His name is very widely 
 known; the crowd think him a very clever man. 
 If that is 'reputation,' you're quite right." 
 
 "Well, I should certainly say it was!" she 
 answered. She glanced at Otho: "Wouldn't 
 you?" 
 
 "I must admit, old chap," he murmured, "that 
 I think you're inclined to be hypercritical. I'm 
 fairly well-read, and I flatter myself I'm not 
 devoid of taste, but Reybaud' s plays are quite 
 good enough for me"
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 301 
 
 Oliphant drummed his fingers restlessly on the 
 cloth. "Do you ask as much from the theatre 
 as you do from your books?" he returned. "Does 
 Reybaud satisfy you in the library?" 
 
 "I've never read him. But I've seen two or 
 three of his pieces, and, I'm bound to say, en- 
 joyed them." 
 
 "And anyhow," said Blanche, "it isn't a ques- 
 tion of reading in the library; it isn't a question 
 whether he's good, bad, or indifferent the ques- 
 tion is whether he succeeds." 
 
 Otho was silent, and Oliphant looked at him 
 inquiringly. 
 
 "Is that your view too?" he asked. "It wasn't 
 the view you held when we took the theatre. You 
 knew what my aim was from the beginning. 
 Heaven knows you can't be sorrier than I am 
 for the way things have gone so far, but it was 
 never understood between us that if fine work 
 spelt failure, I was to play rubbish to retrieve it. 
 I don't want a theatre to play rubbish; I'd rather 
 have none than be in management to give the 
 lie to intentions I've expressed all my life." 
 He turned to Blanche. "If you don't care for 
 nine-tenths of Shakespeare, surely there's one 
 character that attracts you? Is there no choice 
 between the best modern work and Felix Rey- 
 baud?"
 
 302 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 Otho replied for her, with affected lightness. 
 
 "Dear old man," he said, fidgeting with his 
 coffee spoon, "aren't you taking the matter too 
 seriously? If we er if we made a mistake 
 when we opened the house and I suppose we 
 did make a mistake it seems to me that we 
 should make a bigger one still if we were ashamed 
 to acknowledge it. When all is said, the theatre 
 is the theatre, it's a place of entertainment ; aren't 
 you rather apt to forget that? What is it 
 Austin Dobson says? 
 
 'Parnassus' peaks still catch the sun; 
 
 But why, O lyric brother ! 
 Why build a pulpit on the one, 
 
 A platform on the other?' 
 
 I think it applies, Royce." 
 
 Oliphant had turned very pale, and the last 
 vestige of hope sank from his heart. He nodded 
 slowly. 
 
 "Yes," he said; "perhaps the pulpit is too 
 strong in me. But circumstances are stronger, 
 aren't they? We won't argue any more; we'll 
 try to get La Curieuse." 
 
 Now, when he was beaten, he longed for 
 Alma's consolation, even while he winced at the 
 thought of avowing his decision to her. If she 
 knew all, she would be compassionate; but he 
 could not disclose all, and he trembled lest she
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 808 
 
 should find the obvious insufficient to exonerate 
 him. She had once told him that he was weak 
 he had remembered that since; perhaps she would 
 view him only as a renegade clinging to power 
 at the price of his faith? 
 
 But her gaze was clearer than he guessed. She 
 saw that he had mated his antithesis; and 
 partially she understood. Her pity for him had 
 never been so earnest, nor the love that had 
 been born in her so deep. Only now she knew 
 how deep it was, this love that yearned to burst 
 from her lips and eyes knew that if he had 
 come to her ashamed, a coward and apostate 
 self -condemned, she would have loved him still. 
 
 And Blanche was twice triumphant: for per- 
 sistent effort obtained the English rights of La 
 Curieuse, and there was no character in the piece 
 that even Oliphant could assert would suit Miss 
 King. As a manageress Blanche was annoyed 
 at this period only by her father, who on hearing 
 that the policy of the theatre was to be changed, 
 had developed an unexpected tone, and finally 
 appeared to have on hand a large assortment of 
 rejected manuscripts ranging from melodrama 
 to musical comedy. She did not read them, but 
 he wrote urgent letters to her on the subject, and 
 importuned her in her drawing-room, until she 
 was so angered that she would have produced in
 
 304 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 preference the weakest of the plays that were 
 submitted to the theatre daily by unknown men. 
 
 The adaptation of Reybaud's work had been 
 entrusted to Campion, with the assurance that 
 it would be put into rehearsal as speedily as the 
 parts could be type-written. Stimulated by such 
 startling propinquity to fees he was still await- 
 ing the production of a comedy that had been 
 accepted five years ago he completed the task 
 in ten days, and the run of The Average Man, 
 which was entailing a loss every week, drew to a 
 conclusion. 
 
 Alma had not regretted to learn that her en- 
 gagement at the Mayfair must terminate. In- 
 deed, she had already asked herself if she could 
 remain there even were she desired to do so. 
 Although she honoured Royce too greatly to 
 think he would confess his love, honoured her- 
 self too much to fear she would betray her own, 
 the very hopelessness with which she contem- 
 plated meeting him no more showed her that their 
 meetings should cease. After she left his theatre 
 their lines would lie apart; she might remain in 
 London that was to be expected now and yet 
 rarely speak to him again. She would see him 
 from the stalls sometimes, and read his notices, 
 and pray for his success ; but it was very seldom 
 that they would meet each other in the streets.
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 305 
 
 Oliphant realised that too. He felt it as he 
 talked to her on the last night, hungering to 
 take her hand before the moment of adieu. 
 From the stage, which he had just left, the 
 dialogue of the fourth act reached them, and 
 when the curtain fell, it would fall upon the end 
 of more than the piece. To-night he still was 
 playing literature, and stood beside the woman 
 he loved to-morrow the theatre would be void 
 of both. 
 
 "So it is nearly over," he said. " 'For the 
 play, I remember, pleased not the million ; 'twas 
 caviare to the general.' Are you going to wish 
 me 'luck' before you go?" For the first time 
 he made no effort to conceal his humiliation. 
 
 "I wish it now," she answered with the ghost 
 of a smile. "I hope The Modern Eve will draw 
 all London. You ought to feel confident : Cam- 
 pion writes very smartly, and I hear that Rey- 
 baud has never done anything more more strik- 
 ing than La Curieuse" 
 
 "Then you congratulate me? . . . Hark! 
 they're a good audience to-night, aren't they? 
 It has never gone so well." 
 
 "It has always gone well with the people 
 who came," she murmured. 
 
 "With the people who came," repeated Oli- 
 phant. He turned to her passionately. "Why,"
 
 306 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 he exclaimed, "why have I failed? You know 
 I've failed. You don't say so, but you know it, 
 and you know that I know it. Why? It wasn't 
 to play La Curieuse that I dreamed of manage- 
 ment; we didn't think of Reybaud when we 
 talked in Brighton and outside the Museum 
 that day. I hate this theatre! I've lost another 
 man's money, and my own hope. My God I 
 I'm going to produce the worst example of 
 the worst school, and I haven't the right to 
 refuse!" 
 
 "Look forward!" she cried; "don't look back! 
 No, you have not failed. Hark again! that is 
 applause for fine work. Re-read the criticisms! 
 there is a Press that has understood and sup- 
 ported you from the first. Your theatre is too 
 big, your expenses are too large; here you must 
 depend upon the 'million.' One day you will 
 fight for your belief again; and with a smaller 
 house you'll conquer yet." 
 
 He looked away from her, with haggard eyes, 
 at the unattainable. Yes, with her he would 
 have conquered yet; but the future that he 
 could foresee held nothing. With her, thought 
 would have been exalted, and purpose fortified 
 by the grandeur of her own soul. He knew it, 
 as in the mightiness of his longing for her he 
 knew that this defeat wringing his heart to-night
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 307 
 
 would have been welcome if for one moment it 
 had yielded him the comfort of her kiss. 
 
 Now from the stage and the mouth of his wife, 
 came the cue for his return to the scene ; and when 
 he spoke to Alma next, the last night had ended, 
 and she wore her coat and hat. She had taken 
 leave of Blanche and him together before she 
 went to her dressing-room, but he had hastened 
 from his, as she had divined he would, to clasp 
 her hand again. It was the single weakness of 
 which she had been guilty that her hand was bare. 
 
 They stood for a minute in the whitewashed 
 passage, face to face. 
 
 "Are you wrapped up enough? Won't you 
 be cold?" 
 
 "Oh, this stuff is very thick," she said, "and 
 it's warmly lined besides." 
 
 "You ought to turn up the collar," he mur- 
 mured; "you've nothing round your throat." 
 
 "No, I'm quite all right; really!" 
 
 "You'll have a cab? It's snowing hard, some- 
 body said." 
 
 "Yes, I've sent for one I expect it's here 
 now." 
 
 "Well, I I wish you all the success and happi- 
 ness you can ask for yourself. But you know 
 that, don't you?" 
 
 "Yes, I'm sure of it. And you'll never say
 
 308 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 you've lost your hope any more, will you? Good- 
 night." 
 
 "Good-night," he said. ... "I wish you'd 
 turn your collar up." 
 
 "There! Now I'm quite safe," she answered, 
 smiling. 
 
 And in this fashion the man and woman be- 
 tween whom not a word of love had yet been 
 spoken said good-bye.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 "To speak in more favourable terms of The 
 Modern Eve would be practically to discredit the 
 enterprise and judgment of a manager who had 
 inspired the hope that 
 
 Yes! Oliphant had foreseen that. He was 
 reading a notice cut from one of the journals 
 to which Alma had referred when she said there 
 was a Press that had supported him. He picked 
 up another: 
 
 "It may not be astonishing that The Average 
 Man should be followed by The Inquisitive 
 Woman,, but it is distressing. In Paris I was 
 merely bored by La Curieuse, but at the Mayfair 
 I was pained. I hasten to say that my pain 
 was by no means shared by the audience, who 
 evidently found in M. Reybaud's work, judi- 
 ciously watered by Mr. Campion, a pabulum to 
 their taste. Nevertheless 
 
 There was a third slip lying beside him the 
 tone was the same, a tone of irony and regret. 
 From these organs he had derived gleams of 
 
 309
 
 310 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 consolation hitherto, and he winced this morning 
 as if three friends had turned their faces from 
 him in the street. 
 
 But the piece had been produced a week, and 
 was playing to excellent business. The booking 
 was increasing daily, and there was every promise 
 that a great financial success would be achieved. 
 When the box-office sheets were so agreeable to 
 peruse, he would be held unreasonable to be de- 
 pressed by three columns of type! 
 
 In a month from the date of the production 
 Blanche's caprice had been abundantly justified. 
 Boards announcing that the house was full were 
 displayed outside the Mayf air every evening, and 
 in the presence of such good fortune his attitude 
 exasperated her. That he should comport him- 
 self as if they had had another failure, when 
 they had the longest advertisement in The Daily 
 Telegraph,, and a demand for boxes, and queues 
 at the pit and gallery-doors hours before they 
 opened, was an annoyance which not even the 
 additional frequency of her entertainments could 
 assuage. He was truly an impossible person! 
 She felt it more and more. An ordinary man 
 would have owned that his judgment had been 
 at fault, and thanked her; but did her husband? 
 So far from acknowledging his error, he didn't 
 seem to recognise that it had been demonstrated.
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 311 
 
 If it had not been for Otho, she would have been 
 miserable; his was the only real companionship 
 that she had. And then Royce remonstrated, 
 and called her improvident because she gave 
 parties! In truth the reflection occurred to 
 her one afternoon as she mused by the fire in 
 truth she was taking a very noble course in doing 
 so; it was not every woman in her position who 
 would have striven to interest herself in social 
 gaieties when a young man with thousands a year 
 was dying of love for her ! 
 
 Did she care for him seriously? She pursed 
 her lips; well, not as she had cared for Royce 
 once, of course that had been a headstrong 
 passion; she would never have married Otho 
 Fairbairn if he had been an actor in his third 
 London engagement. Still she did like him. 
 As he was, she would marry him like a shot if 
 she were free. Good Lord, how happy she'd have 
 been with him! "Happy"? What a word for 
 the life she might have led! The jewellery he 
 would have bought for her; and the horses and 
 carriages! she'd have had a Russian sable rug 
 in the victoria, and and she would have had a 
 theatre too he would have let her do anything 
 she pleased! . . . Her foot was resting on the 
 fender, and she admired it pensively. Royce 
 wouldn't despair; but that would be the end of
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 her friendship with the Flecks and Oh no, 
 
 no, she was a virtuous woman I 
 
 She had found occasion to remind herself of 
 it; and, though she did not realise the fact, the 
 thought that had given her pause was that if 
 she sinned she would lose Society. 
 
 The hundredth night of The Modern Eve was 
 reached without any diminution of the receipts, 
 and Oliphant rejoiced like a prisoner who ap- 
 proaches release. Now that the money that had 
 been lost by the earlier plays would be recovered, 
 he would be free to tell Fairbairn that he wished 
 to withdraw from the theatre. Management on 
 the lines he was required to travel henceforward 
 was a prospect before which he quailed ; and since 
 the remainder of the lease could be transferred 
 easily enough, there would be no cause for com- 
 plaint on either side. That the adaptation would 
 continue to attract the public until the middle 
 of July that its run in London would have 
 made the Mayf air a profitable speculation there 
 could be no doubt. Therefore he would not 
 even take the detested piece "out" in the autumn! 
 That Otho should not suffer by his hatred of it, 
 he would accept the best of the numerous offers 
 for the provincial rights. 
 
 When Blanche inquired whether an autumn 
 tour was being arranged, he told her "no."
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 313 
 
 "Well, isn't it time we got some dates?" she 
 asked. "What have we got an acting-manager 
 for? I tell you that man is no use he looks very 
 nice, but that's all he thinks about ! I hear, when 
 everybody was coming out the other evening, he 
 stood at the top of the stairs saying good-night 
 to three girls he'd passed in. That sort of thing 
 lets the show down, you know! It's very bad 
 people think that half the house is paper." 
 
 Oliphant hesitated nervously. "Look here, 
 Blanche," he said, "I don't want to go out with 
 the piece, that's why nothing is being done. If 
 Otho gets his money back, I want to drop The 
 Modern Eve, and the Mayfair too. Let us take 
 engagements again; I can't go on this way." 
 
 "You want to drop the Mayfair?" she stam- 
 mered, paling. "Do you mean it?" 
 
 "I can't go on!" he repeated. "Oh, for 
 Heaven's sake try to see it from my point of 
 view for once; don't let's have another argument! 
 I'm ashamed that's the word; I couldn't resign 
 myself to playing this sort of stuff; I couldn't!" 
 
 She looked at him speechlessly, her blue eyes 
 ablaze with wrath. 
 
 "I think you're a lunatic," she said hoarsely, 
 at last. "My God! I think you're a lunatic; 
 I do, on my soul! You'd like to ruin yourself 
 and everybody connected with you."
 
 314 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 "If Otho gets his money back 
 
 "Oh, don't talk to me about getting his money 
 back!" she exclaimed. "Whom has he got to 
 thank for it, you or me? Would you ever have 
 got it back for him? Never in this world ! And 
 when I proposed the piece which by your own 
 showing has rescued you, rescued you from the 
 overwhelming burden of a West End theatre, 
 you had the insolence to sneer at me in front of 
 him!" 
 
 "I 'sneered' at you? When?" 
 
 "You know very well when! When we were 
 discussing the piece at lunch that day. You 
 know you did! Your whole tone was an insult 
 making out that I was uneducated and had 
 no taste. You tried to make me look as small as 
 you could. But he didn't think any more of you 
 for it, I could see !" 
 
 "What you say is absolutely untrue. That 
 we shall never feel the same way about the stage 
 as long as we live I'm quite sure, but it can't be 
 necessary to quarrel about it. As to Otho's hav- 
 ing to thank you for our present success, that's 
 a fact that I've admitted often." 
 
 "You haven't!" she cried; "and you've had 
 cause to thank me a damned sight more than 
 Otho, if you knew it!" Her rage had mastered 
 her.
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 315 
 
 "I don't understand you," said Oliphant 
 sternly; "you can explain yourself when you 
 can talk like a lady." 
 
 "I don't wish to talk at all! . . . If you'd like 
 to know what I mean, I told him that you ought 
 to have a theatre I knew you never would! 
 And he quite agreed with me; that's why he 
 made you the offer." 
 
 "I see," said Oliphant; "that was it? Yes, 
 I suppose I have had cause to thank you. I'd 
 rather you hadn't done it, though it may sound 
 ungrateful to say so. Well, we have had our 
 theatre, and it hasn't fulfilled my hopes. Can't 
 we recognise the fact calmly?" 
 
 "It hasn't fulfilled your hopes? We are coin- 
 ing money, and it hasn't fulfilled Oh! oh 
 
 no, please don't say any more!" She clasped her 
 head. "I am at my limit! It's quite understood 
 you are going to give it up. That's enough!" 
 
 She did not speak again during the day, and 
 a perfunctory remark that he offered at dinner 
 fell still-born. At seven o'clock they drove to 
 the Mayfair, where the audience heard the first 
 words that she had addressed to him for nine 
 hours. Their love-scenes, however, "went" as 
 well as usual, and when he led her before the 
 curtain, and she smiled to his bow, the suggestion 
 of connubial felicity was beautiful to behold.
 
 316 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 But though she was resolved not to reopen 
 the subject until the time came when it could 
 no longer be ignored, Blanche could dwell on 
 little else. When Otho presented himself, per- 
 turbed, for an explanation, she again rendered 
 a mental tribute to his sympathy. Her hope 
 that Oliphant would recant was of the slightest 
 his second thoughts would doubtless be as be- 
 sotted as his first! Dismay engulfed her, and 
 the ignominy of abdication poisoned her very 
 dreams. 
 
 Her reveries were now more frequent than 
 before. The silence between her and Oliphant 
 had been broken, but her grievance was manifest 
 in her accents, and their speech was very con- 
 strained. She had no heart to visit, and he lacked 
 heart to sit at home viewing her resentment. 
 Hence she was often alone in the Green Street 
 drawing-room, and as the reverberation of his 
 announcement subsided to enliven her solitude 
 she once or twice returned with curious eyes to 
 the edge of the abyss from which two months 
 ago she had started back afraid. She could now 
 look down without turning dizzy quite so soon. 
 She repeated that there would be no more cards 
 like these lying in a tray on her table. "Yes, 
 she would be making a great sacrifice for him!" 
 Of course just for pastime imagining that she
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 317 
 
 did do such a thing after the divorce he would 
 marry her; there was no doubt about that. 
 People did forget in time especially when one 
 was an actress. And really, if they didn't plenty 
 of women would regard a vast fortune as ample 
 compensation. She could not do so herself; but 
 plenty of women would! Plenty of women 
 would consider that they were quite justified in 
 leaving a husband like Royce! What joy had 
 she in her life? If her dear little baby had been 
 spared to her, she would never have been 
 tempted. Ah, her sweet little baby, how devoted 
 she had been to him ! When a man was indiffer- 
 ent to his wife, it wasn't astonishing if her crav- 
 ing for affection proved too great for her 
 strength. This tenderness that had been awak- 
 ened in her was natural. As Royce had said 
 when he proposed to her, to be an artist a woman 
 must love. 
 
 Just because she had attempted to lull despair 
 for five minutes by the writing of a little para- 
 graph ! If he had had human instincts, he would 
 have pitied her the more for that pathetic effort. 
 And he was to allow himself all latitude, while 
 she was denied consolation? Plenty of women 
 would laugh at her as a fool! Of course he was 
 false to her how could she question it even for
 
 818 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 an instant? He was false to her with with 
 Alma King! 
 
 This new idea offered her comfort. In the 
 days that followed she strove to believe it. Alma 
 was now playing at the Pall Mall, and Oliphant 
 had not seen her since she left their company, 
 but Blanche wished to persuade herself that they 
 were guilty. Vague accusations of infidelity no 
 longer satisfied her, and to excuse her own in- 
 creased temptation, she sought to point definitely 
 to the woman. 
 
 The Modern Eve achieved its destiny, and as 
 the business dropped and the general exodus 
 from town commenced, it was decided that in 
 another fortnight Oliphant's reign at the May- 
 fair should cease. 
 
 Blanche accepted his intimation of the fact 
 with the fewest words possible, and rewarded 
 herself for their sparsity by many comments to 
 Otho. Passionately as she had exulted in the 
 possession of a theatre, it seemed to her in this 
 final fortnight that she had never appreciated it 
 enough. Each time the door-keeper touched his 
 cap to her as she entered, she suffered a pang, 
 in picturing him saluting another manageress 
 soon. The star-room where she dressed stung 
 her with the reminder that where she played her 
 next part the star-room would be another's. The
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 319 
 
 respect of the vilified acting-manager with the 
 returns was a sword-thrust, as she realised how 
 speedily she would have declined to the insignifi- 
 cance of a salary. 
 
 And as the days slipped past, Otho Fairbairn 
 suffered no less acutely. She would lose power, 
 and he would lose pretext. With the closure of 
 the Mayfair, the ostensible motive for his dalli- 
 ance in London would be removed ; and he stood 
 face to face with the truth. Now he must either 
 go away and resign himself to misery, or realise 
 that he was too violently in love with his friend's 
 wife to leave her. He decided to go away. 
 
 He determined the matter in the small hours 
 while he lay praying for sleep, or his shaving- 
 water; and in the afternoon when the sun shone, 
 and he drifted to Green Street, he felt ennobled 
 by his resolution. 
 
 Blanche, as was so often the case latterly, was 
 sipping tea by herself. It was the half -hour he 
 always found most charming. The shaded room 
 was restful after the glare of the Park, and the 
 flowers looked cooler within doors, and sweeter. 
 Their fragrance too could be detected here; as 
 he greeted her he felt the perfume of the roses 
 she was wearing, roses that he saw had been 
 chosen from the basket that he had sent. 
 
 "I wondered if you would come round," she
 
 320 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 said. "Thanks ever so much for those they're 
 simply exquisite." 
 
 "Have you been out?" he asked, dropping into 
 an arm-chair. 
 
 "No; it's too hot. Well? Tea?" 
 
 "Thanks. Well! 'Our story approaches the 
 end'? It's extraordinary the hold a theatre takes 
 on one; I begin to feel as if I'd been interested 
 in the Mayfair all my life. I shall be lost when 
 we close." 
 
 She sighed. "And I/" 
 
 "Well, you'll be on the stage it won't be 
 quite the same thing; I shall only be able to sit 
 in the stalls. You can't imagine how I shall miss 
 the pass-door and the wings. At least, you can, 
 because you're an actress, but a good many 
 people would think it affectation." 
 
 "I suppose the wings somewhere might still be 
 possible?" she said. "But I understand what 
 you mean, of course. You don't really think it 
 will be a greater change for you than me, though ? 
 You can always run a theatre if you want to 
 that isn't difficult. To me oh, my dear boy, the 
 change will be frightful ! Now that you've given 
 me" a taste for management I shall simply hate 
 an engagement; I shall loathe it!" 
 
 He looked his commiseration, and she nodded 
 repeatedly.
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 321 
 
 "It will be hideous. To have to go to rehearsal 
 whether I'm in the humour or not, and be dictated 
 to by the stage-manager, and have my pet busi- 
 ness altered to improve somebody else's part, 
 and Oh, you haven't an ideal When a 
 woman who has once been her own manageress 
 takes an engagement again, I can tell you she 
 feels the difference here." She put her hand to 
 her heart. 
 
 "Even now, you know," said Otho after a 
 slight pause, "it isn't too late, if Royce is willing 
 to go on. Nothing is settled." 
 
 "He won't; don't entertain such an idea for 
 a moment he won't! No, Royce is relieved 
 I can assure you he is relieved to think that 
 there are only four more nights before we finish." 
 
 "It's a thousand pities," he murmured; "I'm 
 sorrier than I can say. He's been consistent, of 
 course; one can't deny that, but Well, I'm 
 bound to admit he seems to me to be playing 
 the fool." 
 
 " 'Consistent' ! Oh, let's talk about some- 
 thing else!" 
 
 "He explained from the beginning the course 
 he meant to pursue. Don't fancy I'm making 
 excuses for him, but it was understood that he'd 
 only conduct a theatre on certain lines." 
 
 Blanche smiled.
 
 322 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 "But it was, Mrs. Royce!" 
 
 "Oh, I know all that!" she said, "but do you 
 suppose if She rose impatiently. 
 
 "Do I suppose if what?" 
 
 "Never mind; it doesn't matter!" 
 
 "Tell me. What were you going to say?" 
 
 "I was going to say 'do you suppose we should 
 be leaving the theatre if Miss King had remained 
 in it?' ' She looked round into his startled face. 
 "That's all!" 
 
 "Miss King?" He stared up at her. 
 
 "Are you going to pretend you didn't know? 
 You needn't be considerate my eyes have been 
 open a long while. As soon as he got a theatre, 
 he brought her into it. And when a piece that 
 meant a fortune was to be had, he opposed it 
 because there was no part in it for her; and be- 
 cause he was furious when you took my side and 
 he was obliged to let her go, he revenged himself 
 on me by giving the theatre up." 
 
 "Good God! . . . Oh no?" 
 
 "I don't say that the theatre managed in an 
 ordinary way would ever have made him happy 
 I know it wouldn't; but he'd never have gone 
 to such a length as this if he thought I was blind 
 enough to have that woman back in it. So mad 
 as that he's not! It was plain enough surely? 
 Everybody in the company must have talked.
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 323 
 
 In two months' time you'll see them both playing 
 at the same house." Her arms fell impotently. 
 "And so shall //" 
 
 Unconsciously she had taken the pose that 
 she had adopted in Oliphant's play, when as 
 "Maud" she imagined that "Mrs. Vaughan" 
 was "Clement's" mistress. Her expression was 
 the same. Now, as then, her sensibilities were 
 profoundly stirred by a situation which her 
 judgment knew to be fictitious. She believed 
 this thing only while she wished to believe it, 
 and hitherto the belief had been assuasive. But 
 impulse had carried her before an "audience" 
 and now she sounded the depths ; the humiliation 
 was revealed, and her voice broke. 
 
 "I can't believe it," he said huskily; "I'll swear 
 I've never had a suspicion! You must be 
 wrong." 
 
 "Heavens! Do you think I look for these 
 things that I'm jealous?" Her laugh was 
 bitter. "I only care because I'm a woman and 
 I've pride to be hurt; for Royce I care no more 
 than I do for that chair. If I weren't a fool, I 
 suppose I shouldn't care at all, but . . . Ah, 
 don't worry about me I'm used to it by 
 now!" 
 
 She turned aside, and leant her elbows on the 
 mantelpiece, her head between her closed hands.
 
 8S4 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 There was a long silence, while he struggled to 
 remain in his seat. 
 
 "I'm frightfully sorry for you," he stammered, 
 rising. 
 
 Her face was hidden from him, but her little 
 nods were grateful, and pathetic. He stood 
 combating the temptation to touch her his 
 sympathy yearned to touch her, while his pru- 
 dence warned him to resist. His hand moved 
 towards her twice, and was twice caught back. 
 Then he drew hers down. 
 
 "Don't I can't bear to see you miserable," 
 he said. 
 
 Her fingers thanked him, and now he perceived 
 that she was crying. 
 
 "If you knew how hard my life is!" she fal- 
 tered. 
 
 She raised her eyes to him; and the next mo- 
 ment he had kissed her. 
 
 But the words that poured from him were not 
 the words demanded by her mood. He up- 
 braided himself, and vowed that he would never 
 see her again. She did not want to pity his 
 self-reproaches she wanted him to silence hers. 
 He was her penitent, and she would have had 
 him her master. She was begged to understand 
 his remorse, and she wanted to be swept from 
 hesitation by his love. As she listened, the out-
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 325 
 
 look grew strangely dark, the gloom of it chilled 
 her, and she felt forlorn. A sense of hopelessness 
 overwhelmed her and she realised that she had 
 hoped. 
 
 He went from her abased. The kiss and his 
 avowal had rendered him contemptible ; and that 
 she had told him she was fond of him seemed to 
 increase his enormity. He wished she had not 
 told him she was fond of him the impression 
 left by the afternoon was graver because she had 
 said that. But if she had been anybody's wife 
 but Oliphant's! Terrible that a woman's per- 
 fection could be patent to all the world except 
 her husband! Her view of the retirement from 
 the Mayfair as an act of retaliation was far- 
 fetched, preposterous, but though she was mis- 
 taken there, the main charge might be true. 
 What wonder that she was unhappy, poor girl? 
 He regretted the visit passionately; he had de- 
 termined to avoid her, and he was given cause 
 to feel ashamed after all. That was cruel! And 
 now, too, he would be ten times more wretched 
 apart from her. It would even be wrong to take 
 leave of her or for them to meet in a year's time 
 knowing what they knew. And Oliphant! 
 how distressing to have to meet Oliphant again ! 
 
 He went from her abased, and Blanche sat 
 motionless, with wide eyes. Never had she per-
 
 326 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 mitted herself to recognise her fancies as expec- 
 tation, but they were buried in their real name. 
 How their companionship had sustained her their 
 death displayed. She knew now that she had 
 desired to gain the existence to which Otho Fair- 
 bairn was the key ; knew that, though this sudden 
 sensation of blankness would not last, she would 
 remember and repine as long as she lived would 
 think of the might-have-been when she had lost 
 her prettiness and her figure, and the Lady 
 Flecks of the period were oblivious of an elderly 
 actress whose only recommendation was her 
 virtue. Then to her despondence arose the ghost 
 of her hope; and in sight of it she demanded 
 why the ambition of a woman like herself should 
 be frustrated by so weak a man. Man? He was 
 a boy in everything but his age! Should she 
 resign herself to being balked by his scruples? 
 
 She went to the Mayf air that evening wonder- 
 ing if she would see him ; but Otho was not there. 
 Nor did he appear on the next, though he had 
 been compelled to accept a dinner invitation to 
 support his oath. On the penultimate night he 
 failed; but he compromised with resolution by 
 entering the theatre only for a few minutes to 
 mention that he was going to Trouville. 
 
 "You'll come to Green Street first?" she asked. 
 
 He had intended to make his adieux to her and
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 327 
 
 Oliphant in the office on the morrow, but now 
 he hesitated. 
 
 "Do you think I had better go to the house?" 
 he said. 
 
 Her face hardened, and she made no reply 
 for a moment. 
 
 "No!" she said coldly. "Good-bye. I hope 
 it will be a pleasant change, Mr. Fairbairn." 
 
 "For God's sake don't be cruel," he muttered. 
 "I'm suffering enough !" 
 
 She had moved apart from him, and he fol- 
 lowed her humbly. 
 
 "Blanche! Are you angry with me?" 
 
 ' 'Angry' ?" she echoed, pausing. "What right 
 have I to be 'angry' with you? You'll do as you 
 please, of course." 
 
 "May I come Sunday for half an hour?" 
 
 "Sunday I shall be out," she said. . . . "If 
 you wish to, come to-morrow afternoon." 
 
 She returned to the dressing-room, her pulses 
 quickened by suspense. To-morrow he would 
 again tell her how miserable he was; but would 
 he implore her to make him happy? It would 
 be then or never! If he would but beg her to 
 leave London with him if he would only say 
 the words ! She would become his wife, and their 
 elopement would be forgotten. The prospect
 
 328 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 dizzied her and swam before her gaze; she quiv- 
 ered in contemplating the position. 
 
 There was no sign of agitation, however, in 
 the greeting that he was accorded ; its tranquillity 
 relieved him. Her manner had neither the 
 resentment that he had winced at on the pre- 
 vious evening, nor the implication that he had 
 vaguely dreaded. She spoke of Trouville, and 
 asked him if it was "nice." There was a casino, 
 she supposed? Every French watering-place 
 had a casino, hadn't it? And one played a game 
 called "Little Horses," which was the Monte 
 Carlo gamble adapted for the nursery, and had 
 ices and flirtations on a terrace overlooking the 
 sea? How he would enjoy himself! It must be 
 delicious, especially after dinner in the moon- 
 light. 
 
 He felt that it would indeed be delicious were 
 she beside him there, but merely answered that 
 it would bore him to death. Her small talk 
 hurt him as speedily as it was meant to do, 
 although before he came he had perceived in 
 the subject of Trouville some promise of safety. 
 She was paler than usual, he noted; there were 
 shadows beneath her eyes, and in spite of her 
 attempt at animation, her tone, her pose itself, 
 had a certain lassitude. 
 
 It was now for him to sustain her courageous
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 329 
 
 effort, for she was silent. In the silence her face 
 looked wearier still. 
 
 "Where which theatre do you think you will 
 go to next?" he said, when the pause had grown 
 too long. 
 
 "How can I tell?" she murmured. "Why?" 
 
 "I should have liked to know what you were 
 going to do I shan't be in London for a long 
 while; I don't expect I shall remain in Europe." 
 
 "You are going to travel? Where in im- 
 possible places? Have you made your plans?" 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 "You mean to go just where impulse takes 
 you? How lovely! It must be simply perfect 
 to wander about the world like that." 
 
 "'Perfect'?" said he. "You know that I'm 
 going because I must! You know very well I 
 shall be wretched!" 
 
 She did not answer, but her lips trembled. 
 When they had trembled, she averted her face. 
 
 "Perhaps you think you will. You'll soon 
 forget me. A man can forget so easily." 
 
 Then the scene of which she had been confi- 
 dent was enacted. He told her all that she had 
 known he was going to tell her, omitting only 
 the petition that she was eager to hear. Though 
 his devotion dishonoured him, though his goddess
 
 330 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 was clay, this ordeal was the severest that he 
 had been called upon to bear; to part from her 
 tortured him ; and when he cried that he "adored" 
 her, the word was no more than the literal ex- 
 pression of a fact. Her suspense began to be 
 tinged by impatience, even by misgiving. 
 
 She tore her hands from him, and sprang to 
 her feet. 
 
 "Why did you come into my life?" she ex- 
 claimed; "I could have borne the restl" 
 
 As she was clasped, she was momentarily san- 
 guine; but expectation faded, and the coldness 
 of dismay sank through her limbs again. 
 
 "Say good-bye to me!" he urged; "for God's 
 sake, let me say it while I can!" 
 
 Her eyes fastened on him, but he released her, 
 and was going. She watched him cross the room. 
 All that she thirsted for was receding affluence, 
 splendour, everything that could make life worth 
 living was in this man's hold ! In another second 
 the darkness would have fallen, and would lift 
 no more. She would not, she could not, let him 
 go! She uttered a great cry, and threw herself 
 sobbing on the couch. 
 
 "I've only you in the world !" she gasped, cling- 
 ing to him. 
 
 Then suddenly as she looked up into his white 
 face she faltered. Morality, convention, the
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 331 
 
 restraining instinct, awoke and terrified her in 
 spite of herself. She strove to stifle it, to harden 
 herself against it, she battled with it as a woman 
 may battle with a physical weakness. Her mind 
 whirled. Why did he give her time to reflect? 
 A moment more, and horror would have con- 
 quered herl Why didn't he succumb? . . . 
 
 Fairbairn moved towards the window, and the 
 clock ticked away a minute while he gazed fixedly 
 at the street. A hansom was crawling along the 
 hot road, and he observed the minutiae of a han- 
 som for the first time. When the hansom was 
 out of sight he gradually became aware that he 
 was thinking. He was conscious of a dull wonder 
 at his own apathy. His most distinguishable 
 feeling was regret, but neither remorse nor pas- 
 sion was acute; he felt dreary and sad. The 
 clock ticked; and he stood realising the position. 
 Well, he would make her his wife as soon as 
 possible. . . . Oliphant would despise him not 
 more than he deserved. Perhaps Oliphant would 
 marry Miss King after the divorce? If they 
 cared for each other much, one might be sure he 
 would and they'd be happy. None the less, 
 they would always condemn him, Otho Fairbairn, 
 as a scoundrel. . . . But his worst sin was 
 towards the angel who had sacrificed her reputa-
 
 332 
 
 THE ACTOR-MANAGER 
 
 tion for love of him! At this point he looked 
 round at her, furtively, ashamed. 
 
 The woman whom he had yet to understand 
 lay back upon the sofa with her eyes closed 
 thinking too.
 
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